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Graham at Tom’s Aunt’s 



Fifer-Boy of the 

Boston Siege 


BY ^ 

EDWARD A. RAND 


Author of “ Whistle in the Alley f “ Fighting the Seaf “ Down 
East Master f “ Behind Manhattan Gables f etc. 



BOSTON 

A. I. BRADLEY & CO 


47561 


y cit '««.»• 


to 


SEP 15 1900 

CopjfrigM mtry 

%Ji<y 


No 


SECl'W COPY. 

lo 

OfiDia DIVISION, 

OCT 15 1900 




Copyright, 1900 
By A. I. Bradley & Co 



• - -5. 





CONTENTS, 


CHAPTEB 



PAGE 

I. 

A Surprise 


. 7 

II. 

The Chase .... 


24 

III. 

Something is Coming 


. 52 

IV. 

Tom’s Grandmother 


60 

V. 

The Trip to Charlestown 


. 67 

VI. 

The Two Grandparents 


75 

VII. 

In Christ Church 

• 

. 80 

VIII. 

A Great Nocturnal Stir 


87 

IX. 

An Old Country Road . 

• 

. 94 

X. 

Tom on the Nineteenth 


107 

XI. 

The Aged Pilgrim 

• 

. 120 

XII. 

In the Meeting-House 


143 

XIII. 

Which Hill the Altar of Liberty ? 

• 

. 155 

XIV. 

The Night-March to Charlestown 


159 

XV. 

The Work of the Ants . 

• 

. 162 

XVI. 

A Wave of Death 


167 

XVII. 

In the Meeting-House Again 

• 

. 185 

XVIII. 

The Clock in the Garret 


201 

XIX. 

Found in the Road 

• 

. 211 

XX. 

A Wagon in Camp . 


222 

XXI. 

A Deceptive Decoction . 

• 

. 242 

XXII. 

Why Not Trust Him? 


256 

XXIII. 

In Church 

• 

. 274 

XXIV. 

Faith in the Siege 


285 

XXV. 

An Ugly Night 

• 

. 296 

XXVI. 

Dorchester Heights 


308 

XXVII. 

Faith’s Deliverance 

• 

. 311 

XXVIII. 

Boston its Own Again 


318 


3 






Fifer-Boy of the Boston Siege. 


CHAPTEK I. 

A SURPRISE. 

Hark ! It was the sound of a fife whose sharp 
notes cut their way through the thick foliage of 
a grove of pines on a March day in 1775, and 
reached the ears of a man straggling into the 
grove from an opposite direction. A dark blue 
cloak, whose long skirts fell confusedly about his 
form, might have been an acceptable protection 
against the chilliness of the morning, but the 
growing warmth of the noon-temperature made 
the cloak a discomfort now, and it impeded his 
progress through the underbrush leading up to 
the centre of the grove. The man was still 
young, not over twenty -five. The expression of 
his face flushed with heat was not only one of 
weariness, but of anxiety for some reason. 

It was a handsome face. The complexion was 
clear and the features were regular. The dark 

7 


8 FIFER BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE, 

brown eyes were lighted by occasional flashes of 
excitement that only accentuated their beauty. 

The last flash was kindled when he heard the 
fife. He abruptly halted and intently listened. 
Then came a look of disappointment, for the 
music suddenly ceased. “ That is provoking,’' he 
said aloud. “ A fife can’t be played without a 
fifer, and the player might tell me which way to 
go. But I don’t really know where he is, for 
which way that sound came, I can’t really say, 

to the right or to the left — yes, provoking 

Oh, there it is ! ” 

At first his brown eyes brightened with a look 
of pleasure, but were soon clouded with disap- 
pointment. One might have asked if it were 
disgust, for the tune was one that had its ene- 
mies as well as friends. It began low. It was 
quite deliberate. It quickened its pace. It was 
cheerful, merry, even gay. It was saucy now, 
then contemptuous, finally defiant. 

‘‘ Yankee Doodle ! ” exclaimed the listener. He 
smiled, bent forward, then seemed sad. He did not 
appear offended. The last look out of each brown 
eye was that of fear accompanied by indecision. 

“ What had I better do ? ” wondered the young 
man. “ If that means a lot of American soldiers, 
I had better avoid them. The music is over at 
the left, and I had better go to the right. That 
will take me away from some road in which they 


A stiJiPiils^. 


9 


must be, but I can sweep round to the right and 
then strike ahead and so come back and get into 
the road again. I will try that. It is good play- 
ing Oh is it stopping ? ” 

The merry, saucy notes died away. Suddenly 
they started up again. Now the brown eyes 
showed flashes of open pleasure. The notes 
were those of a love-song that had come some- 
how with the tides to our shores, had been caught 
up by a fifer and now flowed out in a current of 
plaintive music from his fife. The man in the 
grove laughed. It was a laugh as happy, care- 
less, as a bird’s song. 

“ Ha, ha ! Ha, ha ! ” he said. “ That is an old 
English love-tune. Thaf; may be no soldier’s fife. 
Anyway, I will take my chances and see who is 
playing. It may be I can find out all I need to 
know. What a time I have had ! I should think 
I was in the depths of Africa and not near the 
capital of New England, in a country that has 
been settled one hundred and fifty years. I will 
hunt this thing up, cautiously, of course.” 

He stole forward as carefully as if any moment 
he might stumble upon a savage in ambush, smil- 
ing all the time, meditating, “ That fifer is good to 
keep on playing, ha, ha ! ” 

Moving on cautiously, his face more and more 
radiant, he came at last to a place where the 
ground abruptly fell away, and out of this hollow 


10 


FIFEB-BOY OF 


THE 


BOSTON SIEGE. 


as out of a spring, bubbled and sparkled and rip- 
pled this merry love-stream of music. He halted 
and looked down not on a group of soldiers but a 
single person clad in unpretending garments of 
peace, a suit of plain brown homespun. 

The back of the player was toward this un- 
known inspector, and the face was hidden, but 
youth needs not a front view to declare itself. 

“ Why, not much more than a mere boy ! ” said 
the handsome man looking down. “Can’t be 
more than eighteen.” 

He proceeded to make a catalogue of the 
various qualities of this interesting player ; 
“ what nimble fingers — a farmer’s boy probably 
— got a boy’s head — looks resolute — can hoe corn, 
I dare say, as well as play the fife — how he enjoys 

it Oh he does not look like an enemy — boys 

know everything — he is good as a guide- board — 
just look at him, see those fingers go playing that 
old love-tune ! ” 

Like waves of rejoicing morning light passing 
over responsive water, so one pleasant emotion 
after another swept across the handsome face that 
was looking down, when suddenly the young 
fifer chancing to turn his head, caught a glimpse 
of some kind of object overhead. He stopped his 
playing and looked squarely up ! He saw what 
seemed to him was the most attractive face he 
had ever looked into — save that of his grand- 


A SURPRISE. 


11 


mother’s and a girl living in Boston — and the 
eyes too were so bright that they seemed radiant 
as the sun itself. Then while there was a noble- 
ness of look, commanding ready and deferential 
attention, it was also a sympathetic look, that of 
youth speaking to and smiling upon youth. The 
boy was fascinated, and smiled back. 

In an instant his expression changed, as if he 
had been charmed by a snake’s eyes, but out of 
these had been finally darted rays of poison that 
had struck and wounded the boy. 

The folds of the long cloak falling about the 
stranger’s form had carelessly been thrown back 
and showed a scarlet coat beneath ! It was a 
British soldier looking down on Tom Parker, the 
young fifer, and through the brain of Tom, visit- 
ing in the neighborhood at Aunt JS'abby Spring’s, 
went on wings the memory of a rumor left by a 
caller at the farmhouse door that very morning, 
“ The British are going through the country and 
will seize for soldiers all the Yankees they can 
find.” 

“ This feller is after me,” was Tom’s inference 
there in the hollow, and springing upon his feet, 
he began to run. 

“ Hold on ! ” shouted the soldier, laughing. 

“Ho, sir!” cried Tom, running still harder. 
“ Ho sojer for me ! ” 

“ Hold on ! I want to know — ha — ha ” 


12 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SlEGE. 


“ Catch me if you can ! ” 

“Hold on! You must tell me where I am — 
ha-ha ” 

It might soon be no laughing matter if the 
soldier’s guide-board, thus taking legs to itself, 
wholly disappeared. 

The pursuing soldier in sober tones muttered, 
“ It was careless in me to let my cloak fall back 
and show my coat. How he runs ! He runs as 
well as he played. I’ll just strip off this cloak — 
for it won’t help me now — and run harder yet.” 

The faster Tom ran, so the soldier ran, out of 
the hollow into the woods again, round big pines, 
through straggling underbrush, out into open 
spaces, through fields, into woods again, out into 
cleared spaces once more, and then into an or- 
chard. 

“ Hold on ! ” shouted the soldier. “ Where am 
I ? I won’t hurt you 1 ” 

Either Tom did not hear, or Tom did not care 
to reply. He sped on. The soldier sped also. 
He was out of the orchard before he was aware 
of it, and saw a plain Hew England farmhouse. 
A home it was, for two women stood by an open 
door, and a flock of hens not far away wandered 
about, enjoying the spring sunshine. 

The soldier heard the boy shouting, “ The 
British are coming ! The British are coming ! ” 

The two women screamed, and the boy, with 


A SU£F£1SE. 


13 


Extended arms, hustled them through the open 
door. This was very promptly closed, and noises 
were audible as of heavy articles in the process 
of moving. 

“ That is a barrel ! They are shoving it against 
the door ! ” thought the soldier, arriving in per- 
spiring haste. “There goes a box, a Oh 

dear ! ” 

If he had been inside, he would have seen 
against the door one churn, one jug and one 
warming-pan. 

He began to knock, calling out, “ Ladies, won’t 
you open, please ? Somebody is in distress.” 

The only sound was tliat of the strengthening 
of the inner barricade. He heard in imagination 
a barrel and two boxes going into position. In 
reality, Tom had deposited a bag of meal on top 
of the churn, while one woman leaned the kitchen 
tongs against the door, and the other woman 
stacked against it the kitchen fire shovel and 
poker. 

The soldier stepped back and looked up, think- 
ing he might see an open window up to which he 
could let fly an urgent appeal. He only saw a 
window going down and a face vanishing in haste 
and terror. He came back to the door. Knock- 
ing with a persistency as gentlemanly as possible, 
he called out in his most persuasive tones, “ I — 
am very sorry to alarm you — I am not a robber 


14 FlFEE-BOr OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

— I only want to know my way — I have lost it — 
and won’t you please tell it to me ? ” 

The only answer was the sound of another ad- 
dition to the barricade. This time it was a bean- 
pot. Then there was silence. 

Finally he caught the sound of a window ris- 
ing. It was a window overhead. Looking up, 
he saw a rusty old gun-barrel projected from the 
window, a gun of the heavy firelock pattern 
common in those days. A nose and a woman’s 
white cap next appeared. 

“Lady,” said the soldier, bowing in most cour- 
teous fashion, “I am very sorry to alarm you, 
but I mean no harm, and I have lost my way and 
want a little information. I — I — wouldn’t harm 
you for the world — I am all alone — you have the 
advantage of me — ^you could get the neighbors here 
any moment — I am not armed — I won’t deny it, 
and can’t, indeed, that I am a British soldier, but 
I am alone, and 3^ou may have fifty Americans in 
the neighborhood, and I can’t hurt you — you 
have a good fifer, too, and if he had told me my 
way to town, he would have prevented this scare 
— I won’t harm a fiy — and — I know you won’t.” 

He bowed. This appeal of a fine-looking man, 
entirely defenceless, to a woman’s sympathies, 
was having its expected effect, for there was the 
sound of a removal of articles. One by one went 
bean-pot and tongs and fire shovel and poker and 


A SUEFBISE, 


15 


bag of meal, churn, jug and warming-pan. These 
forces in retreat from a warmly disputed battle- 
ground, had not entirely fallen back, when Tom 
Parker, the young fifer, came round a corner of 
the house, looking sheepish and confused, but 
smiling. He held out his hand and said, “ I 
ought not to have been so scared, for I have seen 
British soldiers enough, but there is a story round 
that you are after Yankees for soldiers.” 

“ Oh, nonsense ! ” 

“ You come in, won’t you? My Aunt Habby, 
who lives here, is away, but Aunt Kezzy, from 
Fresh Pond, is keeping house for her, and she 
wants you to come in. I guess we can get in 
now.” 

“ I hope so.” 

As the door fell back, there vanished the form 
of a young woman bearing off the warming-pan. 
Tom led the way into an old-fashioned kitchen 
with a few chairs, one plain, pine table, and those 
useful twins, a settle and a big fireplace. They 
might well be called twins, for they were insep- 
arable. At each of the two kitchen-windows 
were plants. A stout old lady with a face round, 
smiling and cherubic, stood in the centre of the 
room and said, “ How-dy-do ? ” 

The soldier gave as stately a bow as ever 
graced a courtroom. 

“ Aunt Kezzy,” said Tom, ‘‘ this is — is ” 


16 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


‘‘ Call me ‘ Graham ’ ! ” said the soldier. 

“ Ha — ha — ” stammered Tom, uncertain what 
to say. 

“ Oh, he is welcome,” said Aunt Kezzy, guess- 
ing his meaning and relieving the embarrassed 
Tom. “ We — we did not know but the whole 
British army was after this house.” 

“ To think of it ! You see all that there is ! I 
have nothing.” Here the British soldier threw 
his cloak down in a chair and opened his arms 
and threw back his head as if he would show 
his utterly indefensible situation. 

He little knew what a fine picture his well- 
shaped form was making, and what an impression 
he was leaving on the white-haired old woman. 

“ I see, I see ! ” said Aunt Kezzy. 

“ I am at your mercy,” he said, “ wholly so. 
I have no arms, while your neighborhood may 
be full of them. Yes, I am entirely at your 
mercy.” 

He little understood how irresistible was the 
appeal, that he an unprotected male, was making 
to two powerful females. 

Aunt Kezzy bade him take a seat and went on 
to say how few people were in the neighborhood 
and how easily the ‘‘ wimmen folks ” could be 
frightened, and then proceeded to tell a long 
story about a short fact, the fright recently given 
by a strange man who was in the neighborhood 


A SURPRISE. 


17 


only five minutes. Aunt Kezzy continued in a 
prosy way, but the soldier had this rare quality, 
he Avas a good listener. He never took his eyes 
otr from Aunt Kezzy, save two or three times, when 
he sent hasty glances after the young Avoman, 
Avho had deposited her Avarming-pan in one cor- 
ner. He Avas a very sympathetic hearer also. 
He put in a note of alarm at the proper place, 
nodded his head to every call for approbation, 
and shoAved at the proper time admiration for 
woman’s self-respect and indignation at a man’s 
carelessness. He streAved plentifully Aunt 
Kezzy’s story Avith such appreciative exclama- 
tions as, Indeed ! ” ‘‘ Too bad ! ” “Just so ! ” 
He showed so much interest in Aunt Kezzy’s 
story and Avas so lavish with his sympathy, that 
Aunt Kezzy, rehearsing the incident to a neigh- 
bor, declared positiA^ely, “Why, he seemed jest 
like one of our folks! We took the things all 
aAvay from the door, and if Ave hadn’t then, he 
could have gone all over the house if he Avanted to, 
afore he got through. I never see sich a man.” 

But the young Avoman Avho had taken away 
that strong defence of a farmhouse door, even a 
Avarming-pan — hoAv did she conduct herself ? 

She had gone in silence to the neighborhood 
of the AvindoAV-plants. There she stood and looked 
at the few blossoms. She had given the British 
soldier no Avelcome. She noAV paid no perceptible 


18 


FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


attention to him, and yet she heard every word 
he said, and could have given the number of his 
sighs over Aunt Kezzy’s misfortunes. 

He did take a very few short looks at her. 
She was worth looking at, for as if designedly 
she stood where he might at least see one-half of 
her face. She was a very pretty, graceful, vi- 
vacious brunette, and the dark blue homespun 
dress that she wore, while very simple, was in 
very effective harmony with her natural charms. 
The present expression of her sparkling black 
eyes under their black eyelashes was at times 
that of a half-smiling inquisitiveness. Then she 
frowned. Who was this British soldier ? Such 
an interesting object had never been under 
that roof before. Interesting? Was that the 
word ? Somehow he attracted her wonderfully, 
and yet she queried if she ought to be attracted. 
Miriam Spring, a patriot and the daughter of a 
patriot, one who was anything but a Tory and 
in sympathy with the British cause, ought not to 
show any interest in this scarlet coat, and she 
would not show it. She could not help her ears 
though, and every sound he made, syllable he 
pronounced, she heard, as if sent through a 
trumpet, and it thrilled her strangely. She could 
help her eyes. It is true she had from behind a 
curtain looked at him several times when out in 
the yard and pleading like a suppliant for admit- 


A SUEFEISE. 


19 


tance Oh, how he had dishonored his uni- 

form, pleading as if a child ! She would not look 
at him again. Not once had she turned her eyes 
toward that sign of the oppressor, the scarlet 
coat, since its entrance into the kitchen. 

He, on the other hand, though he heard not a 
word from her, had continually within the range 
of his vision a young woman in a blue gown. 
Only once when he first came into the room, did 
he see those strangely beautiful eyes of black 
under the black lashes. She quickly turned 
away, but still he saw her. In one look may be 
eternity. Seemingly absorbed in Aunt Kezzy’s 
pathetic tale of fright, snatching just a few hun- 
gry glances apparently at somebody in blue, still 
he saw her all the time. Nor could she hide her 
face when still further averting it because indig- 
nant or something else — she could not say what 
— as she heard Aunt Kezzy invite this British 
soldier to stop to dinner ! A leper at a sacred 
home-feast ! 

“ Oh — oh — I thank you but I must find my way 
back to Boston as soon as I can,” he said, “ and 
if you will tell me about the way, I will jog on 
at once. I would like to stop, if I could.” 

This was sincere enough. The young woman 
in blue was before his eyes, though she in her 
alarm at Aunt Kezzy’s boldness had now wholly 
turned away. Still he saw her face. 


20 


FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


Tom was speaking ; “ Aunt Kezzy, I think I will 
start too. You know I was going to Watertown 
mill anyway, and then I think I will go farther. 
They will v.^onder at home where I am.” 

“ Do you live in Boston ? ” inquired the soldier. 

“ My home is on Salem Street.” 

“Ah, then let us go together.” 

Tom was soon ready, and folding his long 
cloak about every obnoxious garment the soldier 
followed him. The long cloak first made a low 
gallant bow to the women in the kitchen, to which 
the blue gown paid not the least attention. Aunt 
Kezzy followed the young men to the door and 
bade each a sincere, reluctant good-bye. 

When she returned to the kitchen, it was 
empty. 

“ Where is that strange gal ? ” wondered Aunt 
Kezzy. 

The blue gown was up in the second story, 
looking from a window of her little chamber in the 
direction of the Watertown road. As no scarlet 
coat could be seen, only a long cloak of dark blue, 
there was no harm in looking at the latter. It 
was going out of sight. She sighed. 

Then she climbed up into a chair and looked 
out. This gave her one more brief view of the 
— what was it ? A snake that charmed and yet 
repelled, a magician that — she sighed again and 
went doAvnstairs. 


A SURPBISE. 


21 


“ What a foolish girl ! ” she told herself. 

IN'o soldier had been captured that day for the 
British army, as Tom feared, but in an unlooked- 
for direction a prisoner had been made, even a 
woman’s heart. Aunt Kezzy did not hesitate to 
declare her interest, though she told herself it 
was only an old woman’s regard for an imagined 
son. Aunt Kezzy had no child. She had never 
been married. 

“ I must say I don’t know as I ever see a young 
man that took hold of me so. Seemed jest like 
a son,” declared this childless old woman. Her 
tones changed to those of upbraiding ; “ Miriam, 
why didn’t you speak to him ? ” 

“ To a British soldier. Aunt Kezzy ? ” 

“ He wouldn’t bite ye.” 

“ But I might bite him.” 

“ I should hope not, under your own roof and 
as your guest ; we asked him in.” 

Miriam Spring made no reply. 

The silence was interrupted by the sound of a 
horse’s hoofs. Then came a rough command, 
“ Whoa, I tell ye ! Kow stay whar I put ye ! ” 

This was followed by a heavy step over the 
threshold. How different, Miriam thought, from 
the quick, springy step of the British soldier ! 

‘‘ Mornin’ ! ” said the voice that had spoken 
roughly to the horse at the door, and in the same 
tone addressed the two women. 


22 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

“ Good-mornin’, Joab ! ” replied Aunt Kezzy in 
her hearty way. “Good-mornin’, though it is 
most noon.” 

Miriam nodded her head quietly to the new- 
comer. He did not have a very interesting face, 
though he had tried to make it and all belonging 
to him, interesting to Miriam. He was con- 
sidered by the neighborhood to be a discouraged 
suitor for the hand of Miriam. This fact did not 
sweeten his temper which never had much sugar 
in it. He was also secretive in his nature and 
suspicious also. His very look was a telltale 
against him. He had eyes that unpleasantly 
drooped. He seemed to be trying to look under 
something all the time, a peculiarity of view 
from which the word “ suspicion ” gets its origin. 

He now looked at Miriam, the woman to whom 
he was an offence. 

“ What has happened ? ” he asked quickly. 
“ What makes you so glum ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing ! ” 

Aunt Kezzy here broke out, “I’ll tell you, 
Joab,” and she told the whole story. 

“ Whew — w — w — , w — w — ! Miriam says 
nothin’ has happened and I should think it was 
nothin’, this havin’, as Aunt Kezzy says, a ‘ purty 
British soldier ’ round ! ” 

“ I said, sir,” replied Miriam with spirit, 
“‘nothing’ to your second question. You put 


A SURPRISE. 


^3 

two all in a breath, ‘What has happened?’ and 
‘ What makes you glum ? ’ I answered the second.” 

“ ‘ A purty British soldier ! ’ So — so ! ” muttered 
the jealous Joab. He squinted his eyes still 
more closely. Jealousy now turned to patriotic 
mistrust and then denunciation. 

“ It is my mind that this feller is a spy — and 
which way did he go ? ” 

Aunt Kezzy was silent. 

“ Oh, I won’t trouble you to tell me again. 
You said he took the road to Watertown. That 
is where I am going.” 

He moved toward the door. He looked back. 
“ How long since did he leave ? ” 

Aunt Kezzy was looking down, her face color- 
less as a white rose-petal. Miriam left the room. 

“ Two fine specimens of women that love their 
country! You needn’t tell me. Aunt Kezzy. 
Y ou said it was an hour ago. Good-bye ! ” 

Joab Amsden was a prominent member of the 
militia company in an adjoining town, a loud- 
talking minuteman. He now rode off in fury, 
his face a big thundercloud hovering over his 
horse’s neck. 

Aunt Kezzy sank into a chair. “ Boor — what’s 
his name ! ” she murmured. “ To think it was 
Graham, and I didn’t call him so once 1 Poor 
G-g-g-Graham ! ” She burst into tears. 


Chapter n. 


THE CHASE. 

The road to Watertown was indeed pictur- 
esque, for it slowly, steadily climbed a high hill, 
and the landscape included a succession of fine 
pictures as Tom and Graham rose with the road 
from point to point. 

“ What town is this hill in ? ” asked the soldier 
glancing ahead to the crown of the hill. 

“It is all Watertown about here. The road 
will go over the top of the hill, ahead. My 
cousin back there likes to walk it.’^ 

“ What did you call her ? ” 

“ Oh, I didn’t call her anything,” said Tom, 
who was famous for answering questions just as 
they were asked. “ I don’t know as I mentioned 
her name.” 

“ But what is it ? ” 

“ Oh, Miriam.” 

“ Is she married ? ” 

“ What made you think she was ? ” asked Tom, 
who could on occasions also distinguish himself 
by not answering questions just as they were 
asked. 


24 


tM CHASE. 


23 


“ Oh — oh, I didn’t think she was — probably.” 

The scarlet from the soldier’s coat was creep* 
ing up into his face. 

“ Oh, she isn’t married, or I haven’t heard that 
she is,” said Tom, who had at times a rather pro- 
voking tendency to be unnecessarily definite. 

“ Or going to be ? ” Graham wished to ask, 
but instead, only let a new wave of scarlet come 
up into his face and suffuse it. 

“ It is hot,” he ejaculated. 

The hill rose up like a wave to its crest and 
lifted the travelers to a wide outlook. 

“ Has this hill any name ? ” said Graham. 

“We call this Meeting-house Hill,” explained 
Tom, “because a meeting-house used to be on 
top of it.” 

“ Why don’t you say ‘ churches ’ ? ” 

“ I don’t know, unless because they would not 
let dissenters say it in England, and here the 
people got up a name to suit themselves.” 

“ Why do you put meeting-houses on hills ? ” 

“ May be because they are of importance like 
what the Bible says, a city set on a hill. On 
hills, though, we don’t always put them. I’ll 
show you one down a low place soon, but don’t 
you think this a fine view ? ” 

“ Yes, this is — very — fine.” There was a far- 
reaching outlook toward the west and south and 
north. Away in the west, Mt. Wachusett lifted 


26 FlFEE-BOt OF TU^ BOjSTOJSt SIEGE. 

its blue dome toward the clear sky. It was very 
peaceful, and so suggestive that in spiritual 
things there was a House of Rest, no matter 
what near and present surroundings might as- 
sert. Through a foreground bordered with 
noble hills, wound a valley, and at the bottom of 
the valley was a river, the Charles, only recently 
out of ice-fetters, and now on its joyous march 
to the sea. 

The village of Watertown made an unambi- 
tious cluster of life between the foot of the hill 
and the river, and at one side of the hamlet rose 
the town meeting-house. The hill, as if in de- 
signed respect, fell away before its walls, open 
land bordering it. Here was the village com- 
mon, across which on Sunday lumbered the old- 
time vehicles from the farms, sure to be loaded 
with reverence if not piety. On week days, 
there might be secular gatherings on the com- 
mon. One can fancy the militia “presenting 
arms ” there. The colors now were those of a 
forward spring. Patches and strips of green 
amid the russet shades of the fields showed where 
nature was trying to brighten its dull robes with 
spring trimmings. The travelers passed a field 
where a stream not visible was forcing its way 
through the grass, and a border of vivid green 
revealed the brook. So a good man’s modestly 
cherished spirit of kindly intent will declare it- 


THE CMasK 


self in the world by the bright, beautiful things 
it sets to growing as it winds omvard. 

An elm was growing not far from the brook 
as if to give it the benefit of its green umbrella 
in days of summer heat. 

‘‘A pretty country,’^ was the soldier’s opinion, 
“ and it will be too bad to spoil it by war.” 

“Why,” said the surprised Tom, “I thought 
you wanted war. Didn’t you come to this coun- 
try to fight the Americans ? ” 

“Never! I came to this country because I 
could not help myself. I was in the army, and 
as a soldier I must obey orders. There was no 
other way. I don’t mean to fight Americans if 
I can help it. I feel much interested in the 
troubles here, and I can’t help seeing that the 
American people have the right of the argument 
on their side, and a multitude of people in Eng- 
land sympathize with them. You are not the 
only ones that have a quarrel with the king. We 
have one.” 

“ What is the quarrel ? ” 

“ Well, one form of it is that we have in Eng- 
land what are called ‘ rotten boroughs,’ or towns 
that as parliamentary boroughs or towns, have 
so small a population as to have no longer any 
real constituency. And yet the king’s party 
want to have a representation in Parliament 
from these towns because it will help to give 


28 FIFEB-BOt OF THE BOSTON SlEoH. 

their party more power. We believe that some- 
thing should be represented, but nothing has no 
such right. Then in American grievances, where 
there has been oppression, we take the side of 
the Americans. We do not believe in taxation 
without representation in Parliament, and we 
talk your way and say there should be no tax- 
ation without representation. We have some 
very good speakers who can stand up for you, 
and they stand up for my party. When I came 
to America with the army, I knew there would 
be great objection here to our coming, and I see 
that the people’s opposition grows every day. 
War may have come over the seas Avith us. 
Some people think now that Avar Avill not come, 
though it — it looks bad. There has been so 
much trouble, that I Avish every British soldier 
Avere out of Boston and over in England, all of 
us sent back. I had a letter from my grand- 
father. He Avas in Parliament last Avinter and 
heard Chatham one day and Avrote me about it. 
Chatham moved to address the king for ‘ imme- 
diate orders to remove the forces from the town 
of Boston as soon as possible.’ You Avant to 
hear Avhat my grandfather said ? ” 

“Yes, indeed.” 

Graham pulled a Avorn letter out of a breast- 
pocket. 

“ In England, Ave call people that think as the 


CHASE. 


29 

Americans do, "Whigs. That is what my grand- 
father is, and my father, too, and what I am. 
Well, grandfather wrote, ‘You ought to have 
heard the Earl of Chatham — you know he is 
a great orator — speak to Parliament. He told 
about America, which opposes taxation by Parlia- 
ment without representation in Parliament, and 
he spoke of England, which, you know, would not 
let England’s kings have money in an unfair way, 
or for unfair means. He called it “ Whiggism,” 
and he said, “this glorious spirit of Whiggism 
animates three millions in America, aided by 
every Whig in England, to the amount, I hope, 
of double the American numbers. Ireland, they 
have, to a man.” He said, too, “ I recognize to 
the Americans their supreme unalienable right in 
their property; a right which they are justified in 
the defence of, to the last extremity. To main- 
tain this principle is the great common cause of 
the Whigs on the other side of the Atlantic and 
on this.” He advised the removal of the British 
troops from Boston, the repeal of various acts of 
Parliament and the showing of a friendly spirit 
to the Americans. Camden, as well as Chatham, 
came out in bold, strong words for the Americans. 
It did no good, though, for Chatham’s motion 
was rejected by a vote of sixty-eight against 
eighteen Whig votes. And yet good was done, 
for the bar of Parliament was crowded with 


30 PjfM-boY of tMe Boston sIFgP. 

Americans who came to listen, and it showed 
them that they had about a fifth of the House of 
Lords in Parliament with them, and that theirs 
was the cause of the British people everywhere.’ 
So, you see, it is one fight here in America and 
in England. If Englishmen like Chatham get 
the victory in England, it will help America, and 
if America wins, it will help the Whig party in 
England. Where the Americans may make a 
mistake is to think all the British are against 
them. It is not the British people that are 
against America, but the British government and 
its party are the ones on the other side.” 

“ My grandmother in Boston talks that way.” 

“ Doesn’t your grandfather too ? ” 

“ Grandfather ? He won’t allow any good 
among the British. He calls grandmother a 
Tory.” 

“ How does that make your grandmother feel ? ” 

“ Oh, she takes it pleasantly. You ought to 
see my grandmother.” 

Tom’s generally impassive face had strangely 
changed. His eyes snapped and fiashed, and his 
voice had quickened. 

“ I would like to see your grandmother,” said 
the soldier, noticing the change in Tom. 

‘‘You will have to come when grandfather is 
away. He is a cooper and a great patriot, what 
we call a son of liberty. If he saw 3’^ou coming 


THE CHASE. 


31 


in your soldier-coat and could get you into one 
of his casks, I don’t know but he would hammer 
you in and drop you into the water off Long 
Wharf.” 

“Would he? I might come dressed like a 
Yankee and talk to him as a Whig, and then see 
what he would do.” 

“ Ah, he would like you so well that he would 
want you to be a partner and make casks with 
him.” 

“We will see what had better be done.” 

The two travelers had now left behind them 
the village meeting-house on the village common. 
It was a plain structure, a box pierced with two 
rows of windows, and at its southerly end rose a 
tower, whose aspirations went still higher in a 
spire, and this supported something still more 
ambitious, a weather vane that was a rooster. No 
wind could drive it or rain wash it from its lofty 
perch. No fiery sunshine or dense snow could 
blind it to its duty. 

The road that led by the meeting-house ended 
in a highway that took travelers to Cambridge 
or Watertown mill even as they swung to left or 
right. 

Our pilgrims went to the right. Passing a few 
dwellings, the parsonage among them, they found 
the mill, the important centre of a cluster of mis- 
cellaneous buildings by the Charles Kiver. 


32 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


“The Springs will have a grist for you to 
grind, Monday,” said Tom to the dusty miller 
standing by a bag of meal in the doorway. 
“ They want you to let them know if you can’t 
grind for them.” 

“ I will take care of all they can bring,” replied 
the miller, with an air of perfect confidence in 
himself and his mill. 

He smiled as he thought : “ He did not say what 
Spring, but no matter. People sometimes think 
they are the only ones in the world.” 

There were clusters of people in various door- 
ways that the business of the little town kept 
open, and they all eyed closely the long blue 
cloak that covered Graham’s uniform. Their 
glances would not have been so pacific had they 
imagined what those folds concealed. 

Tom and Graham did not linger long. They 
crossed the bridge over the Charles. Watertown 
was the head of tide- water, and the Atlantic had 
just sent a bright, blue ocean-current up the val- 
ley, bringing with it a small fleet of boats and 
lighters from such famous ports as Brighton, 
Cambridgeport, Charlestown, not, of course, omit- 
ting Boston. Beyond the bridge was “Marm 
Coolidge’s tavern,” where patriots were sure to 
find a sympathetic shelter. Several stood in the 
doorway of the hospitable two-story inn and 
glanced at the blue cloak especially, as it passed 


THE CHASE. 


33 


by, but no one saw any occasion for unfriendli- 
ness. 

Graham was glad when the few dwellings on 
the south side of the river had all been left in the 
rear and only a country road leading to Boston 
was before him and his companion. 

“This boy won’t fail me,” reflected Graham. 
“ If he were like some boys, he might have landed 
me in a bag of trouble. I can trust him. He is 
a queer boy, though. He does not seem to take 
much interest in anything except his grandmother 
and his fife. Sometimes his face looks almost 
stupid. I’ll wake him up now. Let me try 
‘ grandmother ’ first.” 

He asked, “Is not your grandmother very 
much of a woman ? ” 

A light leaped up in Tom’s eyes. His voice 
kindled as well as his sight. 

“ My grandmother ? I would like to have you 
see her and know for yourself. She is bright as 
she can be.” 

“ Now I’ll try him on his fife,” thought the 
soldier. 

“Tom, we are out in the country. Just one 
house is in sight, and that is away off. Can’t 
you play but one of those tunes you played this 
morning? I liked much your playing. We are 
alone and have the road to ourselves.” 

Tom was ready. He eagerly began to finger 


34 


FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


his fife, and then as his sight flamed, he put the 
slender reed to his lips, and if Pan had been 
playing Yankee Doodle, he could not have per- 
formed more spiritedly. 

“Bravo, bravo!” cried Graham. “We must 
have another tune.” 

So they sauntered along, Tom playing, Gra- 
ham admiring. At one point, Graham’s compli- 
ments were so warm that the fifer blushed and 
Tom turned his face away to hide his embarrass- 
ment. 

Glancing backward, he saw something that 
cooled him off quickly. They were on rising 
ground, the road here was straight, and the look 
back was a long one. 

Tom saw two horsemen riding hard. 

“ Look 1 ” he cried. 

Graham turned. 

“Tom, I — I — I don’t know of course, but I 
would rather see those men riding ahead of me 
that way than behind me. You need not do 
anything, but I can see the tops of trees on the 
other side of this hill and Pll step off into the 
woods. You might go on if you will, and when 
they have got beyond you — for they won’t stop 
you — then you come back.” 

“ You can count on me,” said Tom, quietly. 

When below the crest of the hill, Graham van- 
ished in the woods. The soldier’s purpose was 


THE CHASE. 


35 


if he found any good hiding-place, to take ad- 
vantage of it. He had not gone far before he 
came to a heap of wood. The sticks were of 
pine and had been confusedly thrown upon one 
another. Graham began to remove the sticks on 
the top of the heap, quickly, quietly. 

He stopped. His heart did anything but stop. 
Pound; pound, pound ! 

It was the sound of the hoofs of horses on a 
hard gallop. Would they halt ? 

The hoofs pounded on. Graham resumed his 
work, jumped into the hole he had made, pulled 
a few sticks over him, and waited. 

In the meantime, Tom had been making as 
good progress as possible, breaking into a run 
that he might draw the horsemen away from his 
fellow-pilgrim now in the woods. 

He turned and looked back. The horsemen 
had halted. Would both go back ? 

“ They are talking it over. They miss the sol- 
dier. Dear me ! There goes one into the woods ! 
And here comes the other ! ” 

This second horseman was now pursuing Tom. 

‘‘ Stop ! stop ! ” bawled the man on horseback. 

“ I will when I get ready.” 

“ Stop, stop ! ” 

“There,” thought Tom, “I can do no good 
running, and if I stop, I may the sooner get back 
to Graham.” 


36 


FIFER'BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


Tom Parker was one that might be surprised 
into such a run as he had made from a British 
soldier that morning in Watertown, but give 
him time to gather up his resources and take a 
deliberate stand, and he was no trifling oppo- 
nent. He was now thinking the matter over and 
determining what had better be done. 

“ Why didn’t you stop when I told you to ? ” 
shouted a young rider, leaping from his horse as 
he reached Tom’s side. 

“I told you I would when I got ready. I 
know you, Joab Amsden, though I never spoke 
to you before, but I have seen you in Watertown. 
What right have you to be ordering me round ? ” 

“ Hone of your impertinence ! ” said Joab, hav- 
ing drawn his sword. 

Tom took the measure of his opponent. Joab 
was half a dozen years older than Tom, but he 
was no heavier and far less muscular. Tom had 
an unsuspected strength. At times, he had sur- 
prised himself. In some physical emergency, he 
would be thrilled by the awakening of an energy 
that he did not feel every day. In his own 
thought, he called it ‘‘feeling the thrill.” He 
took it as a “ sign ” when it came, that he could 
rely on himself for an unusual expenditure of 
force, and he was bold and reckless as a lion. 

The “ sign ” had been given to him now, and 
he sprang upon Joab before that warrior was 


THE CHASE, 


37 


ready to meet the attack. He caught the arm 
that was rising to flourish the sword and he held 
it a hopeless prisoner. 

“Yillain!’’ bawled Joab. 

“ Hush ! ” said Tom, “ or I may kill you.” 

The muscles within Tom’s body still were 
swelling and stiffening, and Joab’s sword was 
wrenched from his grip and thrown away. 

Those muscles still hardening for their work, 
Joab was lifted as if a worm that Tom had 
picked up. The worm twisted and squirmed, 
but all in vain, and quickly found himself on his 
horse’s back. 

“ I’ll give you your sword,” said Tom, “ though 
you are not worthy of it.” 

He picked up the sword and at the same time a 
stout bough that was lying in the shade of an oak. 

“ Off with you ! ” shouted Tom, handing Joab 
the sword and brandishing the bough. 

“ The Evil One ! ” muttered Joab, riding off 
obediently. 

‘‘ Now I am going to hunt up my companion ! ” 
said Tom, shouldering his cudgel of oak and re- 
tracing his steps. “I thought they had guns. 
If they have only swords, my club is good 
enough for me.” 

Joab soon disappeared, and the second horse- 
man came riding up. He was a heavy, resolute, 
grey-bearded man. 


38 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


Tom received him quietly, leaning on his club 
of oak. 

“ Say, young feller, what are you doing ? ” 

“ Doing what I please,” replied Tom, coolly. 

“ None of your impudence ! ” 

“You are the impudent one addressing a 
gentleman that way. My sword is good as 
yours,” said Tom, patting his club of oak. 

He felt the “ sign ” swelling within him, and he 
advanced toward the horseman. His eyes flashed 
as sharp as when he talked about his grand- 
mother or played his fife, though the brightness 
expressed a different emotion. 

“I don’t like the- look of that eye — or that 
— club,” thought the horseman, and his tone was 
conciliatory when he spoke. 

“ Oh, well, let that go ! You don’t want to be a 
traitor. You are a patriot, I know. I want to find 
that British soldier. Do you know where he is ?” 

“ I don’t. He saw you coming and thought he 
had better not stick to the road. That is all. I 
don’t know where he is.” 

“ Do you know he is a spy, young man ? ” 

“ I don’t know anything about it. I picked 
him up or he picked me up back in Watertown, 
and we were walking together to Boston. He is 
very civil, I can assure you. As for myself, I am 
as good a patriot as either of you two.” 

“You keep bad company, though.” 


THE CiiAsE. 


39 


“ That is to be proved, and anyway, it is better 
than yours. I am going back, and I will lead 
your horse for you.” 

Tom felt the “ sign ” growing within, and he 
stepped forward. 

“ Oh — oh — no ! I don’t need you,” said the 
horseman, putting spurs to his horse and spring- 
ing away. 

That was the last appearance of this rider. 
Joab Amsden was not seen again, and undis- 
turbed, Tom went back to find Graham. 

The latter twice had become very weary of the 
hiding-place that nobody had interfered with. 
Each time he left it and then went back to it. 
He heard the movement of a search somewhere, 
the tramping of a horse’s hoofs, but no one had 
troubled him. 

Fully relying on Tom’s faithfulness and ex- 
pecting him to return any moment, simply be- 
cause he had made that promise, he still nestled 
in his retreat, determined to give Tom a welcome 
when he did appear. He finally heard a voice 
calling gently, “ Graham ! ” 

‘‘That’s Tom,” declared the soldier, and the 
next moment the top of the heap of wood went 
flying up as if a volcano were under it. Out 
jumped a blue cloak and a scarlet coat. 

“ That you ? ” cried the delighted Tom, when 
the eruption was over. 


40 FIFM-BOV OF TME BOSTOF SIEGE. 

“ And is this you f ’’ said the equally pleased 
soldier. 

They shook hands heartily and trudged off 
speedily toward Boston, sharing in a lunch that 
Aunt Kezzy had thoughtfully placed in Tom’s 
hands. So they came at last to Boston Neck. 
This is now lost in wide areas that have been 
“ filled in,” and across this made territory stretch 
many streets, everywhere echoing with the jostle 
and bustle of a nervous modern civilization. 
Then Boston Neck was just a tongue of land con- 
necting a rebellious Puritan town with the main- 
land known close at hand as Roxbury, a country 
village, and beyond it was a rural territory sown 
thick with the seeds of disloyalty, as the British 
government declared. Across the Neck, a lonely 
road, bordered with dreary marshes wound its 
way to Roxbury. Salt water reveled and rolled 
on either hand. There were broad spaces of im- 
mense tidal activity twice every day. Some- 
times heavy tides without any respect for Boston 
Neck or the people struggling across it, would 
sweep boldly in, and for a time wholly obliterate 
the old road. In a thick winter-storm that 
shrouded the land in white, when the wind 
howled up and down the Neck in response to the 
tides breaking in surf white as the snow sifting 
down, it is no wonder if travelers shrank from 
trying the road across Boston Neck. This 


cHasi^. 


41 


tempest-smitten, marsh-bordered way might 
treacherously betray them into serious straits. 
In districts where the night through, electricity 
is now bright and safe and cheery as the day, 
people once were in danger of losing their way 
and did lose it, all on account of the open, wild 
marshland on either side of them. The General 
Court did a very proper and paternal thing when 
in 1723 it said that the road across Boston ISTeck 
should be fenced. That might shut people in, 
but it could not shut the tides out, and these 
were as misbehaved as ever. 

The day that Tom and Graham tramped along 
the Neck-road, the gold of the bright spring sun 
gave a fascinating lustre to the russet hue of the 
marshes, while several bluebirds asserted in the 
sweetest, most silvery way, that spring was al- 
ready here. The water that stretched'away on 
either side of the neck was peaceful as the sky 
that bent above it and that dropped into this 
bright mirror occasional images of soft, white 
clouds, to be held and caressed in those crystal 
depths. 

When the travelers reached the narrowest part 
of the Neck, in the neighborhood of the present 
Dover Street, they saw fortifications. The gal- 
lows too were not far from this spot, a sign of a 
brutal, savage element still lingering in our civi- 
lization. Joseph Warren, an earnest patriot and 


42 


FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


a Bunker Hill martyr, is said to have been 
saluted with these words as he neared a group 
of British soldiers in this neighborhood, “Go on, 
Warren! You will soon come to the gallows.’’ 
Warren challenged the group to know who might 
have given this courteous salutation, but he 
learned nothing. 

Tom and his companion passed through the 
gate without any difficulty, the sentry giving 
Graham the familiar nod of an old acquaintance. 

“ There, Tom, I feel safe inside here, and I think 
you are too, but outside they took me for a spy. 
That seems strange, for here among my country- 
men, I know there are some who look upon me 
with distrust, because they know I don’t like the 
course of the English government. I have some 
very strong friends who will stand by me, and 
yet I have one enemy who would like to send me 
to the gallows, and if he could, would do it at 
once.” 

“ Who is your enemy ? ” said Tom, feeling the 
“ thrill ” within, the coming on of the “ sign,” as in 
thought he confronted a dire enemy of Graham. 

“Well, if you see an officer with hair- that is 
very black and eyes of a kind of yellow-grey 
and a big, beaked nose that is very red, he is my 
enemy. If you should see him lift his hat, he 
would show a bald head.” 

Tom in his thoughts was making an inventory; 


i'ilE CHASE. 


43 


“ very black hair, and yet he is bald — has eyes 
yellow-grey, and he has a very red-hooked nose, 
sort of a red-beaked old vulture.” 

Tom forgot to ask his name, but assured Gra- 
ham that Tom Parker would be on the lookout 
for a certain enemy. 

“ I thank you. I feel easier,” the British sol- 
dier was so kind as to say. 

To the barracks of the British soldiers on the 
Common, it was a walk of over half a mile. The 
Common had been the playground of Boston’s 
youth and the pasture-ground of Boston’s cows, 
and it was now obliged to support quarters be- 
longing to a much hated army. It was to the 
patriotic eye as distasteful a sight as the Roman 
fortress close by Jerusalem’s temple was to the 
old-time Hebrew. 

On their way to the Common, Tom and Gra- 
ham passed the Great Tree or Liberty Tree at 
the corner of Essex and Newbury Streets. It 
was one of a number of fine old elms, and Tom 
remarked as they were going along, 

“ There, I wasn’t more than seven years old 
when I came up one day to see what was on 
Liberty Tree. Did you ever hear about it ? ” 
asked Tom in his quiet, stolid way. 

‘‘ Something, but you tell me what it was,” re- 
plied Graham, curious to see if Tom would get 
excited over this story about Liberty Tree. 


44 FIFER-BOY OP THE BOSfON SIPgP. 

“Well, we were told by the British — British 
government, I mean,” said Tom, out of respect 
for this sympathizer with a good cause, making a 
distinction between the people and the govern- 
ment, “ we were told for instance, we must put 
one of its stamps on every newspaper, on the 
sheriff’s and court’s papers, or if it was a ship go- 
ing to sea and it was the ship’s papers, or if you 
were going to get a debt in, or if anybody wished 
to be married, then the papers for all these things 
must have a stamp on them, and of course the 
Americans would have to pay for it every time. 
Now I don’t believe you would like to have to 
stick those things on if you hadn’t had a chance 
to say whether you wanted them or not.” 

Tom gave all this in a quiet, impassive way, 
while his companion replied energetically, “I 
don’t believe I would.” 

“ And our people didn’t want them,” continued 
Tom, in his calm style of delivery. “ Well, I was 
coming along this very street, Newbury Street, 
and somebody said there was something hanging 
on the Great Tree, on Liberty Tree, and a crowd 
was there. So I ran to see, and sure enough, 
there were two images up in the tree. One was 
said to be a stamp officer and the other was a 
jack boot and a head and horns were sticking 
over the top, and a boy told me this was the 
devil. The things stayed there till it was almost 


i'BE CHASB. 


45 


dark, and then the crowd took them down and 
six men lugged them off on a bier, and after a 
while they made a bonfire on Fort Hill and 
burnt one, if not both of them. It was a big 
crowd you would have said, if you had seen it 
going along this very street, and they kept bawl- 
ing, ‘ No stamps ! ’ and ‘ Liberty and Property ! ’ 
and so on. There was so much trouble that no- 
body dared to think of selling any stamps. When 
the stamp act, as they called it, was actually to 
go into effect, the first of November, then they 
had a lot of trouble. They had a big time, hang- 
ing up images in the Liberty Tree. Then they 
took them down and put them in a cart, and 
there was a big procession that went after the 
cart through the town, and then they came back 
again and went out on the Neck to the gallows 
and hung the images. Boston was full of talk. 
My grandmother ” 

Here Tom’s eyes began to shine. 

“ Your grandmother a patriot ? ” asked Gra- 
ham. 

“My grandmother?” said Tom, stopping, 
stamping his foot, and speaking in excited tones. 
“ She is a true woman. You ought to see her.” 

“ I want to see her very much.” 

“ What was I saying about her ? ” 

“You didn’t tell me what she did say.” 

“ Oh, my grandmother said the excitement was 


46 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGN. 

like that in one of her pots when she is getting 
up for grandfather what he calls a ‘ biled dinner.’ 
The pot has a lively time there in the fireplace.” 

“ You think Boston was like the ‘ biled dinner ’ 
in the pot ? ” 

“ Just like it, and there was ever so much trou- 
ble. When we were told that the king had given 
up the stamp act, everybody was pleased. He 
sent the troops though, and we did not like that. 
I like you though.” 

“I thank you. I don’t blame you for not 
wanting an army here. That chokes freedom. 
What I am afraid of is that trouble may come 
and that it will come quick between the people 
and the soldiers, and so there will be war. I 
wish I were out of this country and over in my 
home in England. What I am looking for and 
would like not to find, as I have just said, is war 
that will break out somehow when the people 
and the soldiers come together. A little spark 
Avould start a big fire. I certainly will try not 
to do anything to bring it on, and I hope my 
journey will do no harm.” 

What did the British soldier make his journey 
for? Tom wondered if he would say anything 
about it. The soldier’s story came ; “ I suppose, 
Tom, you would like to know what I went into the 
country for ; I went out to see if I could find 
some relatives that my mother told me about.” 


THE CHASE. 


47 


“ Did you find them ? ” 

“Find? No, not a trace of them. My mother 
will say it was folly to go in my uniform, but I 
don’t know as I could have got leave if I had 
gone in plain clothes. They would have said — 
the officers here — that I wanted to steal away 
for good or that I had some bad, secret errand. 
I think I may have said to myself a hundred 
times, ‘ Folly, Graham, folly ! You are always 
doing something foolish ! ’ ” 

“No, no!” said Tom, unwilling to allow the 
charge. “ Anybody would go to find their rela- 
tives. What was their name ? ” 

“ Eing.” 

Tom shook his head ; “ No Eings I know of. 
Well, you can come to see my grandmother.” 

Tom’s eyes were flashing and his form straight- 
ened. The light dulled again, and he drooped 
as he continued : 

“ My grandfather — he — he — is different ; he 
don’t care to see anybody unless it is a Son of 
Liberty. He is pretty stiff. He wears old 
leather gloves made here because he won’t buy 
those made in England. I can remember when 
folks swore they wouldn’t buy English goods.” 

“Oh, I can understand that, though they 
might have been made by people who were Whigs 
like me and wanted the people here to have their 
rights. But I can see in any important move- 


48 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


ments that some people have got to have their 
backs up stiff. It takes all sorts of people to 
make the world. Oh, I can see my barracks on the 
Common ! Now don’t forget me ! Good-bye ! ” 

. “ I won’t forget you. Good-bye ! ” 

They shook hands warmly. 

As the soldier went on, he pulled a letter out 
of his pocket, opened it and began to read aloud : 
“ ‘ Your mother, dear Graham, wants you to find 
some relatives who live in Watertown, outside of 
the village somewhere. This relationship is not 
a near one, but a distant one, away off. My 
writing is not always plain and so I print the 
name, “ King.” ’ There, that is plain as can be, 
‘K-i-n-g.’ But I couldn’t find anybody, and 
Tom says he does not know of any ‘ Ring.’ Oh, 
there are the barracks ! When my time of en- 
listment is over, I will never, never enter them 
again. There, I forgot to ask that boy just 
where he lived ! Another foolish thing, Graham 
Perry ! Stop ! Did he not say it was on Salem 
Street? And there; he does not know my full 
name if he should want to hunt me up ! I said, 
‘ Call me Graham.’ I am the greatest bundle of 
omissions and commissions ever put together ! ” 
Tom had his soliloquy also ; ‘‘ I never met any- 
body — any man like that British soldier. Why, 
I told him enough things to pack full one of 
grandfather’s big casks. Handsome fellow, too ! 


THE CHASE. 


49 


Why, he got things right out of me without try- 
ing to get them. That is his way. Grandfather 
says, ‘ Look out for the man or the woman you 
have told all your heart to, and so filled their bag, 
for there is no telling where they may empty it.’ 
Fill your bag ! Pooh ! It makes all the differ- 
ence in the world whose bag it is.” 

Tom kept on till he reached Salem Street, and 
then he turned into an old-fashioned house of 
two stories. The upper story projected over the 
lower, as if the builder had a dream of a gar- 
rison-house ; and thinking Indians might prowl 
along Salem Street, had given a projection to the 
upper story, as if alloAving for the boring of a 
row of small portholes down through which old 
firelocks could be aimed at any bold redskins 
stealing up to fire the walls, or force any door or 
window. 

‘‘ Grandmother ! ” he called in a tone of voice 
different from that in which he had made his 
prosy statements to Graham Perry. These notes 
were low and flute-like. 

“ Grandmother ! ” 

There was no response from the entry or the 
kitchen. 

He went upstairs. ‘‘ Grandmother ! ” 

The flute again made its musical call, and this 
time at grandmother’s chamber-door. 

No answer was given. 


50 


FIFEK-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


He looked into the room hastily, saw two sil- 
houettes of celebrated Puritan divines suspended 
from a wall near the bed in which grandfather 
and grandmother slept, as if to watch graciously 
over their rest at night, and then Tom turned 
away and climbed the unpainted stairs leading 
up to his humble room beneath the roof. There 
were two windows in the roof and Tom went to 
one of these and looked out. He saw a crowd 
of old-time gables and big, red chimneys. He 
looked down into several yards. In one was a 
clothes-line scantily covered. He saw his grand- 
father’s cooper-shop. His grandfather lazily 
stood in the open door. Then Tom watched a 
flight of pigeons on their way to the hospitable 
belfry of Christ Church near by. When the last 
bird had flapped past his window, he suddenly 
turned toward a dormer window, ornamenting 
while letting the light into a house on an adjoin- 
ing street. 

Did he see a face at the window ? He mur- 
mured, “ Is that Faith ? ” He sighed and shook 
his head. He concluded to go down and see his 
grandfather in the little cooper-shop. 

He turned back though after leaving the win- 
dow, and looked out again. He did not realize 
how often during the week he looked toward 
that neighborly dormer window to see if it 
framed a dear face. 


THE CHASE. 


51 


Of all the beings in the world, grandmother 
and that young neighbor held the front place in 
Tom’s regard. 

While the first was a relative, Faith was no 
relative at all. 

He had often told his grandmother how much 
he loved her, but he had not made the least con- 
fession — as he thought — to Faith. 

He only looked very often from his window 
over toward Faith’s. AYhen she noticed it she 
turned her face away promptly. 

“ It is a very provoking way she has,” declared 
Tom. 


CHAPTEK III. 


SOMETHING IS COMING. 

‘^Something is coming!” exclaimed Grand- 
father Parker, as he walked aimlessly about the 
little shop in which as a cooper he followed his 
trade. “ I don’t care what it is ; let it come ! ” 

He went to the door of the shop and looked 
out as if to receive an expected presence. The 
shop was behind the house and a big yard sepa- 
rated the two as if it thought they might quar- 
rel, and distance would promote peace. He saw 
no one in the yard and he turned back to his shop. 

He approached a bench and took up a hammer, 
but what could he do with it ? 

“ Business is ruined 1 ” he declared. “ Who 
wants barrels ? I would like to coop up one per- 
son in a cask. General Gage, and send him back 
to England.” 

He next went to a closet set into a dusty cor- 
ner, opened a little door and took out a small 
bottle and a big glass. A very decided odor of 
spirits pervaded that corner as he tipped the 
bottle, and the odor was still more pungent as he 
took a second glass. 

52 


SOMETHING IS COMING. 


53 


“ Business is ruined ! ” he said again, and shut 
the closet door. 

It is surprising how many kinds of business in 
shop and store may be ruined, and yet the cup- 
board-business flourish. Grandfather Parker’s in- 
terest in that cupboard was hurting him. Some- 
times the ugly thought would break upon him 
whether this Son of Liberty might not be a Son 
of Captivity. He was a man of will, though, 
prided himself on his will-power, sneered at 
feebleness of purpose as if a sham, and denounced 
indecision as if a crime. And yet between Grand- 
father Parker and the cupboard in the corner 
went a chain, and the Son of Liberty was a slave. 

Muttering “ Nothing to do, nothing to do,” he 
now turned to a desk and thought he would un- 
dertake the writing of a letter to a cousin, Aza- 
riah, across the sea and living in England. 

After a formal introduction, there followed a 
lament over the condition of business in Boston, 
and he asked, “Is it any wonder? In 1774 we 
had about seventeen thousand people, it has been 
thought. That number ought to make some busi- 
ness, but how is it ? 

“ Why, cousin, Britain has been at us, cutting 
down and cutting down our trade for long years. 
We could not trade where we had a mind to, but 
trade must be through England. We could not 
send to France or Holland our tobacco, indigo 


54 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

and ice, but they must go to England. We could 
not buy silk in France, we could not fetch tea 
from China ourselves, but England must supply 
us. All that tended to cut down trade, and it 
sent down, too, the demand for my barrels. Then 
came ‘the molasses act ’ so called. We were not 
to get our molasses from the French West Indies, 
unless we paid a heavy duty, but we must get 
our molasses of the British West Indies. We 
could once send fish to the Frenchmen, and they 
wanted it, and they gave molasses in return. 
Getting molasses from the French, we could 
make rum and send it to Africa. So we brought 
back slaves to the Southern colonies. My wife 
says it is wicked. Well, it meant trade and made 
a demand for ships and called for barrels, and 
that helped my business and brought my wife 
bread, I tell her. But no, the British say, ‘ Trade 
with British West Indies,’ and they pooh at our 
fish. Why, five thousand sailors lost a chance to 
ship, and New England lost over a good three 
thousand pounds. Then to cap all, what did 
your English government do but clap that ‘ Port 
Bill ’ on us last year, shutting up the port of Bos- 
ton until we would pay for the musty old tea- 
chests we pitched into our harbor. Of course, 
that ‘ Fort Bill ’ did not help my trade. There, 
too, are the British soldiers quartered on us, and 
nobody is likely to come into town and buy a 


SOMETHING is COMING. ^5 

barrel of me while the British are here. But — 
something is coming, Cousin Azariah. As Gen- 
eral Gage, the British commander and governor, 
discharged from attendance the representatives 
to our Massachusetts Assembly, and so broke that 
up at Salem, they organized into a provincial 
congress and adjourned to Concord. They are 
getting ready for war if need be. At one min- 
ute’s warning our troops and our militia, if called 
out, must be ready to march. We have two mag- 
azines, one at Worcester and the other at Con- 
cord, and it is whispered round that General 
.Gage is going to send out troops to destroy stores 
at Concord. He would like to catch two rebels, 
Adams and Hancock. But let him send. It is 
thought we have four hundred thousand souls in 
this province, and the number of men between 
sixteen and sixty is about a hundred and twenty 
thousand. The most of our men have guns, and 
know how to handle them. Let General Gage 
send ! Some of his people will never get back. 
Something is coming ! Let it come ! ” 

Here he laid down his quill, took up his ham- 
mer and went to the door, as if he expected an 
infirm barrel might have arrived and was rolling 
up to the shop for repairs. He had caught the 
sound of steps and his movement was quickened. 

“ Pshaw ! ” he muttered, when arriving at the 
door. “ That you, Tom ? Where are you from ? ” 


PiP^R-BoV oP THE Poston siege. 


5 ^ 


“ Watertown.” 

“ Did you see any signs of troops moving, any- 
thing to show that that water-rat, General Gage, 
is taking to Charles iliver, minding to cross it 
and push out into the country ? ” 

“ Did not see any army moving.” 

“ Well, did you see a small body on the move ? ” 
“ Saw — saw — one soldier,” replied Tom, who 
had not intended to tell Grandfather Parker 
about Graham Perry, and wished now to dodge 
other questions if he could. 

“ Saw only one f ” asked the persistent grand- 
parent, boring like a gimlet into Tom’s secrecy. 

“ Why, yes, I saw more than one in the streets, 

but you meant one on the march — on ” 

‘‘ I meant ? I did not mention one or two or 
twenty. Did you find one out in the country ? 
A marching round in pomp, I dare say, the lazy 
scoundrel ! ” 

Tom was silent. 

“ Where did you see him, Thomas ? ” 

The gimlet was now away in, and Tom deter- 
mined to let out everything he knew if need be. 
“I — saw him in Watertown, he — he wanted to 

find some relatives by the name of Ring ” 

“ Relatives by the name of Ring ! ” broke out 
the grandparent. “ Thomas, I am surprised to 
find that you had anything to do with him. He’s 
a spy, a spy, sir! What’s his name ? ” 


SOMETHING IS COMING. 


57 


Graham.” 

Tom was glad that he knew the soldier’s name 
only in part. 

“ That all ? ” 

“ It is all I know.” 

“ All you know ! ” 

Grandfather Parker fumed with indignation, 
as if he were a bottle of yeast actively working. 
He could not comfortably say anything more. 
He turned back to his quill, resolved to send 
word to the committee of safety in Watertown 
that one Graham, a British spy, had been seen 
in their streets. His stock of paper though was 
only sufficient to furnish the letter to Cousin 
Azariah. He added to the letter this postscript : 
“ I said something was coming, and I should say 
now that something had indeed come. Here I 
am, the grandfather of Tom Parker. He has 
been off in Watertown and met a British soldier, 
and he has made this booby, Tom, think he was 
out looking up some relatives. He is a British 
spy, I do believe.” 

Here grandfather Parker laid down his quill a 
while. He looked as if he was ready to hang 
and burn the spy and then quarter the ashes. 

Grandfather Parker had a long, sharp nose, 
and this feature expressed his character, that of 
an incisive and decisive man, a narrow and per- 
sistent man, good at looking at things and good 


5 g Pifeb-boy of the boston SIEGF. 

at pushing through things, for Grandfather Parker 
Was behind the nose, but always along a line 
did his thoughts move. He could only see one 
side of a thing, and that the side directly before 
him. As for shifting his view-point and trying 
to see both sides to any question, that was not 
his make-up. He would have been ashamed of 
an effort to see both sides. And whatever posi- 
tion he once took, he was very slow to abandon. 
He kept looking at the one side that first pre- 
sented itself. 

Tom was an enigma to him. Tom was some- 
thing of an enigma to many people, but a special 
puzzle to his grandfather. The only thing Tom 
liked to do with his hands heartily was to play 
his fife. Grandfather Parker had accepted it as a 
situation impregnable as Gibraltar, that Tom 
was “ Good for nothinV’ save just to play that 
fife. The drum and the fife were making inces- 
sant music in Massachusetts towns whose minute- 
men were drilling in anticipation of the summons 
to battle. If Tom had been an enthusiastic fifer 
in the ranks of the militia, that would have won 
his grandfather’s praise. Tom, though, fifed for 
Tom Parker and not for patriots. 

Grandfather Parker watched Tom retreating 
across the yard in the direction of the house. 
He muttered, ‘‘ What is that boy good for ? ” 

He thought along the line of Tom’s accom- 


Something is coming. 


§9 


plishment as a fifer, and saw nothing else. That 
it was possible that outside of this one line might 
be latent possibilities of usefulness in Tom’s 
character, Grandfather Parker did not take into 
consideration. His keen blue eyes under their 
bushy brows, his incisive nose, he turned still 
more directly toward Tom and muttered, “ A 
good-for-nothin’.” 


CHAPTEE IV. 
tom’s grandmother. 

Tom went from the yard into Grandmother 
Parker’s kitchen. She was a rather stout woman, 
of average height, with silver-grey hair and soft 
blue eyes. Her complexion was fair, and Time 
had not traced many of his interrogation marks 
in brow or cheek or chin. It seemed to be easy 
to map out Grandmother Parker’s self and tell 
what some of her attractions were. She was 
very amiable, and yet she could be as firm as 
Copp’s Hill close at hand. She certainly had 
tact, could be very cautious, was royally en- 
dowed with common sense and knew what not 
to do, which is rarer knowledge than to say what 
one should do. She was therefore not a blun- 
derer, nor yet was she one of the coldly calculat- 
ing kind, selfishly prudent, but she could be as 
enthusiastic, as careless of opinion, as reckless of 
consequences, as a young girl. She had also a 
bit of temper aboard. 

Some one asked Tom what his grandmother 
was like. 

“ My grandmother ? She is a whole-souled 
woman. She is an angel.” 

60 


TOM'S GRANDMOTHER. 61 

Grandmother did not think so. She felt that 
she was related to souls on earth rather than 
spirits in the skies. She had a little closet open- 
ing out of her chamber and its one window 
looked toward the east. If any angel on his 
daily rounds in that neighborhood might have 
looked in that eastern window, he would have 
seen a woman on her knees, morning, noon and 
night, following an old Bible-rubric as to the 
three daily seasons of prayer. The experience 
of a soul knowing its own temptations and 
struggling in a humble way to overcome them, 
gave her a sympathetic attitude toward every- 
body that had any kind of a spiritual trouble. 
To Tom, so often reminded by his grandfather 
that he ought to have more of this or less of that, 
the sympathy of his grandmother was like a 
draught of water to the thirsty. 

But this was not all. Beyond any list of 
Serena Parker’s qualities, there was sometliing 
else, that peculiarity of self, that individuality, 
strangely marking some people and distinctively 
as the flavor of one kind of apple sets it off from 
all other kinds. She was amiabilit}^ firmness, 
tact, enthusiasm, sympathy plus Serena Parker. 
It was the Serena Parker, that, shining out of 
her blue eyes, must have made her so charming 
in the thought of Tom. 

His face now brightened as he saw her. IJis 


- FIFER-BOY OP tME BOSTON SIEGE. 

whole manner changed. He was not a big boy 
stolidly shuffling along. He was rather the rapt 
lover. He stepped forward promptly and kissed 
her heartily. 

“ Here I am, grandmother ! ” he said. “ Are 
you glad to see me ? Are you well ? ’’ 

She threw her arms about him, kissed him, 
patted him on the cheeks and said, “ If I ever I 
Keal glad to see you, Tom ! Yes, I am well ! ” 

Then she unlocked her arms, released this will- 
ing prisoner, looked closely at him and exclaimed, 
‘‘How you must be dreadfully tired. You must 
have something to eat ! ” 

“ Ho matter ! Don’t trouble yourself ! I’ll 
find something.” 

“ Find?” 

Hot so easy was it to find something, and 
grandmother knew it. 

“ Let me think, let me think, Thomas ! Oh, I 
heard a hen cackle a little while ago, and I 
have not used all of Dolly’s morning milk. I 
think she is a very good cow, and must have 
known you were coming and so gave a little 
more.” 

This pleased Tom, the idea that Dolly, the cow, 
thought of him. He knew though that it was 
grandmother and not Dolly that did the think- 
ing. Grandmother had a very agreeable way of 
putting everything about a person into sympa- 


TOM'S GRANDMOTHER. 


63 


thetic relations, so that in this case even the cow 
took special interest in Tom’s return. 

“ ITow, grammer ” — a pet name Tom had for 
that parent, “ I want to get those eggs myself — 
I’ll save you the trouble and ” 

“ Thomas, Thomas ! ” 

Here grandmother laid her hands on Tom’s stiff, 
bushy black hair, piled up in front like a small 
mountain, and began to stroke it. Tom sank 
down into his chair, and under this caress of her 
magic hands, those wiry strands seemed to be- 
come soft and silky and wavy. 

“You are tired. Tommy. Eest to-day. To- 
morrow you may work for me as if you were my 
slave, but you are tired now.” 

How close she put herself in connection with 
his fatigue, recognizing and allowing for it ! 

“ How, see ! Here is your fife that you laid on 
the table ! You can play that if you want to.” 

She came back to find Tom playing in the di- 
rection of the fireplace, and so spiritedly, it seemed 
as if a company of Brownie minutemen were 
marching up the black chimney. 

He ceased and helped her about the prepara- 
tions for his lunch, starting up a prudent, econom- 
ical little fire, and bringing water for the kettle. 

“How, Tommy, I found two eggs out in the 
hen-house, and I am going to cook you some- 
thing, but you tell me, while I am working. 


64 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


about your walk home, or tell me how you found 
evorytliing in Watertown, and about our folks.’’ 

Tom gave a detailed and interesting account 
of his visit to the Watertown farmhouse, of his 
surprisal by the British soldier and of the fright 
at the country home. 

How Grandmother Serena laughed ! Then 
Tom told about tbe walk to Boston, the chase by 
the two men on horseback, and all that the Brit- 
ish soldier said and did. 

“ And grammer, he wants to see you.” 

“ See me ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, grammer.” 

“Well, he shall if he really desires it.” 

“ He does, he does.” 

“You say he has dark eyes ?” 

“Yes — the handsomest man I ever saw, and 
somehow he gets things out of you. You — ^you 
can’t help yourself — he — he is so pleasant. I like 
him.” 

Grandmother smiled to see Tom’s interest. 
Her lunch steaming and savory was now on the 
table. 

“Here, Tom, here is what you must thank 
Doll}^ and the hens for.” 

“No, I must first thank you.” 

“ You sit down and enjoy it. I want to go 
upstairs.” 

From an upper windo\y she looked down intq 


TOM^S GBAND3I0THEB. 65 

narrow Salem Street to see if an unusual move- 
ment of scarlet coats that day might still be in 
continuance. Whatever its occasion, the street 
was not disturbed now by the presence of a single 
British soldier. 

“I know, I know,” she murmured, “that war 
is coming. The town is excited, and the British 
soldiers are in no mood to meet and manage that 
excitement. I don’t see how war can be kept 
back. What I want to bear in mind is that there 
are good people like that soldier on both sides, 
and God — help the right.” 

Grandmother’s eyes were lifted in silent appeal, 
eyes full of reverence, of a tender blue, like 
temple-doors set among the distant hills. 

When she came back to the kitchen, she found 
Tom before a half-eaten lunch, his head drooping 
over it, while the breathing was that of the heavy 
sleeper. His fife was by his empty plate. 

“ Tom, dear ! ” she said. 

She gently shook him. 

“ Soldier — a7'ms ! ” he muttered. 

“ No, no, Tom ! You are in grammer’s kitchen. 
You come with me upstairs. Come ! ” 

He sleepily followed her, both led and sup- 
ported in his drowsiness, and she took him to his 
room under the roof. He dropped upon his bed, 
while she went to the windows and drawing 
green curtains, shut out the prying sun, 


66 


FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEQE, 


“ Good-night, dear Tom ! ” 

“ Good-night, grammer ! I thank you.” 

He was grateful for this last recognition of his 
physical state, for this kindly expression of her 
sympathetic mood. 

She had been gone only a minute when Tom 
arose, sleepily staggered toward one of the win- 
dows, lifted a curtain and looked toward Faith 
Ainsley’s dormer window. 

“ She ain’t there ! ” he softly said. 

He dropped the curtain and staggered back to 
his bed. He threw himself upon it heavily, and 
was soon drifting in that poppy-strewn barge 
which takes us across every sea of difficulty to 
the luxurious House of Kest that Care and Trouble 
are forbidden to enter. 


CHAPTER Y. 


THE TRIP TO CHARLESTOWN. 

“ Tom,” said his grandmother the next morn- 
ing, “ do you think you could row Faith over to 
Charlestown to see her grandmother’s sister? 
She wondered if you could.” 

Row Faith Ainsley to Charlestown? Tom 
would have rowed her round the world, provided 
he was the only one in the boat besides Faith 
Ainsley. 

“I will go, grandmother,” he said, “and I will 
take my fishing line and catch you a mess of fish.” 

He took tAVO fishing lines in his basket. “ One 
is for Faith,” he told himself. 

He passed into Salem Street, and went toward 
Christ Church, lifting its spire toward heaven, 
and in the same spot it bears its silent witness to 
a higher, unseen Avorld, to-day. Fie saw Robert 
JN'ewman, the sexton, in the doorway. 

“ Good-morning, Robert ! ” he said, and wanted 
to ask, “ Have you seen Faith Ainsley ? My 
grandmother said Faith would meet me here 
about this time.” He blushed and omitted the 
question. 


68 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

“ Good-morning, Tom. Seen any British sol- 
diers moving round to-day ? ” 

Tom shook his head. 

“ He is a patriot,” thought Tom. “ They will 
get no help from him.” 

Lifting his eyes, he saw Faith Ainsley coming 
to meet him. 

Prosy Salem Street changed to a path in Para- 
dise at once, and Tom’s heart began to flutter. 
It was a stiff meeting. They only nodded their 
heads to one another. 

Finally Faith remarked, “I thought you might 
be willing to row me to Charlestown.” 

Tom apparently was very glum and answered, 
“ We’ll get my grandfather’s boat.” 

The silent column moved down to a wharf, but 
no boat was to be seen. 

Our boat gone? ” asked Faith. 

“ No, I will get it.” 

Tom stumbled down a flight of steps beside a 
wharf, as if his errand were an ungracious one, 
but his heart going in its excitement as recklessly 
as his legs, gave the lie to any seeming lack of 
interest. 

‘‘ Oh-h ! ” screamed Faith, seeing Tom’s expo- 
sure. 

“ Now, Faith, what did you do that for ? ” 

“ I thought you were going to tumble in, Tom. 
Why do you go down there ? ” 


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Faith and Tom rowing from Bostonjo Charlestown. (Page 69.) 



THE TRIP TO CHARLESTOWN. 69 

He looked up and laughed heartily. It was a 
good, honest laugh. Faith was glad to hear it 
and see it. His smile, his laugh, made Tom’s 
strong point, for his face was plain in its features. 
When he smiled, there was a transfiguration. 
People spoke of it and wondered at the reason 
for Tom’s attractiveness then, but the magnetism 
was real, though without explanation. 

All the stiffness of the meeting was dissolved 
when Tom laughed. They were as natural as 
two young lovers can be. 

“ Do you want to know why I came down 
here. Faith ? I didn’t come down to jump into 
the water, but my grandfather’s boat is tied under 
the wharf. Some British soldier might see it if 
out here, he thinks, and they would take it. I 
have got my hand on the rope and will pull it 
out.” 

Out into the light came the boat, and Tom gal- 
lantly helped Faith to her seat in the stern. 
Tom was a good oarsman and Grandfather 
Parker’s boat went out into the stream rapidly. 

Faith looked off upon the bright shore, upon 
the British men-of-war lying at anchor, upon 
Charlestown village with its clusters of houses. 
Sometimes, she stole a glance at Tom, and caught 
with pleasure the successive smiles coming and 
going in that oarsman’s face like sunfl ashes in 
the rippling water. Faith had known Tom ever 


70 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

since childhood. They were orphans living with 
their grandparents and on neighboring streets, 
and from Tom’s dormer window one could look 
over to Faith’s. Orphanage, though, and a resi- 
dence on neighboring streets and dormer win- 
dows within sight of one another, never could 
have made Faith and Tom the good friends 
they were. She pitied Tom because his grand- 
father spoke so discouragingly to him. Besides 
woman’s pity, there was woman’s liking for a 
young fellow who was so devoted to an old 
woman, the grandmother. Then there was the 
conviction that the young man liked her, the 
young woman. 

One day when Tom looked and smiled upon 
Faith, she fancied it was in a way he looked and 
smiled upon no one else, as if he felt that Faith 
belonged to him, and from that day Faith felt 
that Tom belonged to her. She had never said 
as much to Tom, only with her eyes, and to no 
earthly friend had she ever, ever made any con- 
fession. So this fact of her love was kept a de- 
lightful secret, probably from Tom himself, she 
reflected, but, no matter, she loved him. Woman’s 
pity had grown into the white flower of woman’s 
love. 

Tom loved Faith as positively. Not for her 
flne looks, for she had none to boast of. She 
was rather plain. Her complexion was dull. 


THE TRIP TO CHARLESTOWN. 71 

There was no brilliancy to her brown eyes. But 
Faith was a very unselfish girl, and Tom had 
seen this unselfishness so many times, and shown 
to him also, that he could but admire it, and it 
finally made its own beauty in Faith’s eyes and 
Faith’s voice, in an irresistible way. He some- 
times wished he knew whether Faith cared for 
him as much as he cared for her. 

They were soon on the Charlestown shore. 

Tom, won’t you come with me to the house 
where I am going? Only my grandmother’s 
sister’s.” 

“ If you don’t care, I will go up the hill, Faith, 
and when I think you are through, I will come 
down.” 

It was Breed’s Hill that Tom meant. A short 
walk from the houses of the interesting village of 
Charlestown took Tom to the top of the hill. It 
was not so high as Bunker Hill to the north, but 
it was high enough for Tom, and after one June 
day coming ere very long, it was sure to have in 
men’s minds an altitude immeasurable. 

Tom was glad enough to throw himself down 
by a rail fence and then lean against it and look 
off. 

How and then he glanced at the rail fence. 
He little anticipated the situation of things the 
next time he would see this same fence. He 
wearily turned his head and made a hasty in- 


72 FIFEB-BOV OE THE BOSTON SIEGM. 

speotion of Bunker Hill which was a lonely suc- 
cession of fields the spring was trying to brighten, 
giving them an occasional brush with a lively 
wind as if to dust them. Then he listlessly 
swung his head about and gazed at the houses 
between Breed’s Hill and Charles Eiver. Kais- 
ing his eyes, he looked across the rippling water 
and saw Boston’s fringe of rebellious wharves, 
from one of which a mysterious party of Indians 
had gone to a vessel, and seizing her chests, 
emptied them into the harbor. He saw Christ 
Church with its tall spire, the old blue stones on 
Copp’s Hill near by, and the battery the British 
had planted there. Then his head began to 
droop. He was tired, and his head sank lower. 
He gave some profound nods. The spring wind 
was warm and musically drowsy, and it kept 
whispering in his ears all sorts of sleepy mono- 
tones, lulling, lulling to a deeper rest this pilgrim 
who, burdened with a promise to a fellow-pilgrim, 
having reached the enchanted ground, was now 
forgetting everything. 

Some time elapsed and was it the spring wind 
that summoning its sweetest notes, called, “ Tom, 
Tom ! ” 

A hand was gently shaking him. 

“ Tom, wake up ! ” 

At first, Tom thought it must be the wind that 
called, and he was drowsy again. 


THE fRlP TO CHARLESPOWN, t3l 

Then came that shake. 

AVas the fence shaking him, the old rail fence 
against which he leaned ? 

The wind kept on calling sweetly, and the fence 
kept shaking Tom gently, and he opened his eyes. 
There was Faith standing over him ! 

She was smiling, looking down fondly into his 
sleepy eyes. And he had positively assured her 
he would be down at the boat whenever she 
might be ready to start ! 

His eyes opened wide now, and he sprang to 
his feet with sudden energy. 

It startled her. 

“ Why, Tom ! ’’ 

He was mad with himself to think he had been 
false to his word and caught napping ! 

“ What a fool lam!” 

Faith was laughing. 

There, I never keep my word, my grand- 
father says, and he says I don’t do this and I don’t 
do that, and I will never be anything. If grand- 
father had found me asleep, oh, it would have 
been better than getting a chance at coopering a 
hundred barrels. And he is right. I am not 
good for anything.” 

Then a great pity came into Faith’s heart for 
this young man, who had been so unwisely, dis- 
couragingly treated, and a woman’s pity again 
bore flowers in woman’s love, and it broke out 


74 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SlEOH. 

of her. She could not help it, she could not 
keep it in, this deep, sincere affection for a poor 
fellow in trouble. 

“ Why, Tom — Tom — dear, don’t. Don’t, dear 
Tom ! ” 

There it was, the delightful secret all out, like 
a rosebud breaking into a blossom and letting 
out its fragrance ! Would she try to take it 
back, to catch and imprison this perfume again ? 

An impossibility, and was it not the truth ? 
Was not Tom very dear ? 

She colored, began to stammer, blushed more 
deeply. No shutting in of that fragrant secret 
again. 

Tom was happy. 

‘‘ Come, dear,” he said, “ we will go to the boat 
now. Come ! ” 

Faith walked slowly on. She was trying to 
accustom herself to the feeling that she had 
made a confession. 


CHAPTEE yi. 


THE TWO GRANDPARENTS. 

“ Has Tom got back, Serena ? ” 

“Not yet, Azariah. He said he would bring 
some fish with him. That will help out our 
table ; won’t it ? ” 

Azariah Parker was standing by a window, 
looking out into narrow Salem Street. This had 
a pinched look, as if Poverty had taken posses- 
sion of it. The old man was feeling very poor, 
that day. And it was not strange that the poor 
man was hungry. 

“ You said it would help us, Serena? ” 

“Yes, Azariah.” 

“ It will help us if he gets them.” 

“ Oh, he will ; Tom is a good fisherman.” 

“ I am glad he can be good for something.” 

Serena was silent. 

Azariah continued in a belligerent mood : “ I 
would like to have some one tell me, when it 
comes to earning a living, what that boy is good 
for?” 

Serena did not pick up the challenge. She 
picked up her knitting, and she knit in silence. 

75 


PlFEB-BOY OP THE BOSTOPt SIEGM. 

Azariah in his persistent, boring way, used 
the gimlet once more. ‘‘If you can see any 
chance for that boy, won’t you tell me ? ” 

The knitter rested her needles in her lap and 
replied: “I don’t think Tom has had a fair 
chance yet. Boston has not been able to give 
it, business has been so poor. If he had lived in 
the country, a farmer’s life might have given 
him the thing he needed, but his opportunities 
here have been poor. I believe he will come out 
in the right place. My reasoning shows me, 
Azariah, my Bible too, that God into every soul 
puts some beautiful thing that will be brought 
out some time — that there is a capacity which 
may not have just now an opportunity ” 

Azariah considered Serena in some things a 
heretic, and that keen, sharp nose now detected 
the odor of heresy. 

“ Do you mean to say, Serena, that God calls 
every one to high places ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

She said this firmly. 

“ I mean that some time we may go up into a 
high place in our achievements, if we will have 
it so, though we must go down into a low place 
at His feet first if we would ascend.” 

Azariah made no reply, and Serena continued : 
“ I said that God had put some beautiful thing 
into every soul, and He will bring it out in His 


the two grandparents. 7 t 

time. It may be an ability to do something, as 
when a man carves a statue. It may be an apt- 
ness for learning. Then it may be something 
else. Here is a poor girl and she always will be 
poor. She has never had very good health. She 
may be very ignorant and stay so. God, though, 
has put into her nature a capacity for love, an 
ability to make sacrifice, a patience that touches 
you. Her surroundings may be very mean, but 
God will brings those beautiful things out. It 
will be in His time, though. You know I have 
flowers, and some bloom in May and some in Au- 
gust, but all, some time. God’s grace is about 
us all, Azariah, calling out the beautiful things 
within ” 

“ And whom He will. He hardeneth, Serena.” 

“ God does not harden. We harden ourselves 
when we turn from Him, like the water that will 
run away from the sun toward the cold north and 
not toward the south. His grace is like the 
sunshine, Azariah. It says in the Scriptures, 
‘ Ask and ye shall receive,’ ‘ Seek and ye shall 
find.’ ” 

Azariah made no reply. He had often started 
to think that Serena ought to have been a 
preacher. Such an idea about a woman if com- 
pleted would have been rank heresy, and he 
never dared to finish the thought. However, he 
often listened to Serena’s hearthstone addresses. 


78 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

and when made, he could but respect his wife’s 
readiness in meeting his opinions, but that she 
routed them, he was not willing to acknowledge 
openly. He would listen in silence to her “ po- 
etic fancies,” as he called them, adding, “ She is 
a woman.” 

She now said, ‘‘ What God wants of Tom, I 
don’t know, but he wants something. It is in 
him, and when God sees fit, it will come out. 
The flowers blossom sometime.” 

Azariah hemmed, rose, and went out into his 
shop. There he fussed about a variety of things. 
He seized his hammer and a fragment of a hoop 
and imagined that he was “ cooperin’,” that some 
business had come in. This fiction soon came to 
an end. He dropped his hammer and went to 
sweeping the floor of his shop. Chips were not 
abundant nowadays, and he threw down his 
broom. 

He went out into the yard, and, reminded of 
Serena’s words about flowers, he shuffled over to- 
ward a bed where, under the kitchen window, 
she cultivated marigolds in their season. 

“ What a fool ! ” he said, as he halted by the 
window. “ Ho flowers yet ! ” 

‘‘ In His time ! ” a voice seemed to say. 

Azariah started as if he thought a marigold 
Avould break out of the soil mysteriously, perhaps 
some undeveloped Tom pop up his head suddenly 


THE TWO GRANDPARENTS. 


79 


as a bud, and it would break into a small turban 
of gold. 

He started again. The window was open, 
and now out of it, stole an odor so tempting to a 
poor, hungry old cooper ! 

He began to smile. He tossed up his head and 
repeatedly sniffed this anticipation of a dinner. 

“ Azariah ! ” soon called Serena. 

When he went in, a big plate of handsomely 
browned fish was on the kitchen table. 

“ Tom caught these ! ” said Serena. 


CHAPTEE YII. 


IN CHEIST CHURCH. 

A YOUNG woman was stealing into Christ 
Church on Salem Street. It was Faith. She 
saw an opened door and gratefully stole in. 

She thought Eobert Newman, the sexton, might 
be in the church, but he was not to be seen, and 
Faith was glad of it. She wanted to be alone. 
But was she alone ? The same galleries that go 
round three sides of the church to-day rimmed 
the walls then, but nobody was in the galleries. 
She looked up toward the organ and the singers’ 
seats and the four cherub-images on the gallery- 
rail that made no louder note as they blew 
their trumpets than they make to-day ; nobody 
was in the choir-gallery. She looked higher still, 
up to the diminutive slave-gallery, a pen up in 
the dusk and the dust, but no one was in the 
slave-gallery. When on Sunday she had caught 
a glimpse of sable faces there, she had been 
tempted sometimes to wish she had their lot, for 
they had no responsibilities ; Faith was loaded 
with them. She put that thought away at once, 
for responsibility means power, opportunity. It 
is a freeman’s badge. 

80 


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Faith In Christ Church. (Page 8!.) 





IN CHRIST CHURCH, 


81 


Was no one in the church? She looked to- 
ward the centre among the pews under the cu- 
rious chandelier still drooping there to-day, which 
the skipper of the British privateer, the Queen 
of Hungary, had presented the church. He had 
taken this from a French vessel, and then conse- 
crated it to a pious use, a handy way of getting 
rid of incumbrances and bringing honor to any 
guerilla of the sea doing it. Faith looked at the 
pews under the chandelier and in all the pews 
adjacent, but they were without an occupant. 
Was there any one in the chancel ? She looked 
toward the altar, but no rector was gliding about 
it or standing in the reading desk or mounting 
the pulpit. 

All alone was Faith in the church. She was 
glad to be alone in this church of her childhood. 
There was no presence hindering her communion 
with her Heavenly Father; she was alone with 
Him. She stole into one of the big, square, old- 
fashioned pews, closed the door, and gratefully, 
as if she had got home, she fell upon her knees 
and closed her eyes in prayer. 

But the closing of the door and the shutting 
of her eyes, did not keep out the world. Such a 
turmoil at first ! 

Faith Ainsley had lived with her grandparents 
since childhood. They had saved enough, they 
thought, to take care of them in their old age. 


82 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

but the troublous times made everything un- 
certain. Then the grandfather had recently 
died, and the little property left for the grand- 
mother’s maintenance seemed pitifully small, and 
Faith felt as if she were a warrior fighting every 
kind of an enemy away from the door of her 
home. 

Then the growing expectation of war, the 
Something, that in Azariah Parker’s opinion was 
coming, burdened Faith. The Something Coming 
was very near now. Boston was like a land 
overshadowed by a big thundercloud, up to 
which people look timidly, silently, expecting 
any moment to see the hashing and hear the 
roaring and feel the sweep of a great storm. 

It only needed a little overt action either on 
the British or American side, to bring down the 
storm of war in all the details of camp hardships, 
wounds, sickness, suffering, death. Faith be- 
lieved she was a patriot, and no more than any 
Son of Liberty did she wish her country to be 
trampled on. She was as ready as any other 
patriotic young woman to vow she would not 
use tea, or do anything hurtful to the American 
cause. But at the thought of suffering and blood- 
shed, there was a physical revulsion. In this she 
was different from Tom’s cousin, Miriam Spring, 
whom Faith knew. Somehow the sight of suf- 
fering not only aroused Miriam’s sympathy, but 


IN CHRIST CHURCH. 


83 


it stirred her to an earnest effort to relieve it, 
and in the effort she took a physician’s interest. 
She had a doctor’s professional curiosity to see 
how a disease might develop, at different stages 
making its different demands to be met by one 
who brought prompt relief. ‘‘ She ought to be 
a doctor,” people said of Miriam. Her age did 
not permit this, and Miriam only had a reputa- 
tion as a good nurse. Faith had no such interest. 
She had a tendency to faint when she saw a red 
blood-stain. She healed because she pitied. How 
she shrank from war that would make its marks 
all over the land ! 

Then there was Tom. What if Tom should 
become a soldier ! What if Tom were wounded 
— what if he were — she did not care to add the 
word “ killed.” All this brought the shadow of 
the storm-cloud nearer, and how much blacker it 
was ! 

Then there was her church that had been so 
full of comfort for her, that had been such a 
symbol of protection. When she got into one of 
these old square pews, she was in a fort. W'hen 
not able to go to church, she still had the music 
of its bells, and what a fount of comfort all this 
was ! Christ Church had “ a peal of eight bells ” 
that were cast in England in 1744, one of them 
inscribed with this assertion, “We are the first 
ring of bells cast for the British Empire in Horth 


84 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE, 

America, A. R., 1744.” They claimed a delight- 
ful personality, styling themselves “ we.” One 
inscription was “Abel Rudhall, of Gloucester, cast 
us all. Anno 1744.” And to Faith’s sensitive ear 
they did have a personality, as if a sweet band 
of singers, men and women, stood in the old bel- 
fry, and praised God. At Easter, when they 
proclaimed the resurrection of Jesus Christ, when 
they said with jubilant voice that Death was 
Life, how their voices came down to Faith’s 
heart like the sweet assurances of friends, and 
they comforted her and strengthened her. Now, 
the war-storm was coming. How it might assail 
and ravage and wreck her church ! The voices 
in the belfry would change to cries of lament. 
This particular day in the church, what a world 
of anxiety seemed to be crowding into the old- 
fashioned square pew ! How little like a fortress 
it was ! 

Not long ago, Faith had shared some of her 
anxieties with Tom’s grandmother. It Avas not 
easy to do this. She could not, like some people, 
easily let out her feelings that others might sym- 
pathize with her and relieve her. She was a self- 
contained, self-reliant body. She could sympa- 
thize Avith others, and it made her very lovable, 
but she could not easily let others sympathize 
with her. 

It Avas unusual to give Avay to an impulse to 


IN CHRIST CHURCH. 


85 


talk with Serena Parker about her worriments, 
but Faith did yield, and people may be grate- 
ful for impulses that shake them out of them- 
selves and reveal them to one another when in 
sore trouble. 

“Ah, Faith,” said Tom’s grandmother, “your 
name will be ‘Works ’ if things keep on troubling 
you so much. Some things, dear, we can’t manage 
at all. It is the same old world that is full of 
trouble, and we can’t make or inend, but we can 
let God do for us and take care of the world that 
He has created and will not forsake.” 

This talk was coming back to Faith as she 
knelt alone in the old square pew. Did she trust 
God all she ought, and let Him manage where 
she could be only a blunderer ? But He was all 
about her, and she would trust Him. Somehow, 
doors seemed to close on the turmoil trying to 
invade her seclusion. Was poverty threatening 
her home? A door closed on that threat. Was 
war’s cloud coming nearer and would its noise of 
storm echo there ? A door closed on that. And 
what would become of grandmother and what 
would become of Tom ? The door closed on that 
worriment. The noises were all hushed, and into 
the stillness came a blessed and beloved presence, 
that of her Heavenly Father. Had He not made 
all things? Could He not manage all things? 
Why not let Him ? Why not Hust Him ? Faith 


86 


FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


had a side to her nature very sensitive to another, 
unseen, spiritual life and its glorious presence. 
And when thus clearly apprehended, the light 
from that life would seem to stream through her 
soul and shine out in her face. Tom saw her in 
one of these moods, and lue felt like dropping on 
his knees before her. She was in that mood 
now. She rose from her prayers there in the 
old square pew, and passing through the still 
shadowy church, went out into the prying light 
of busy Salem Street. 

If Kobert Newman had met her when going 
out of the church and had looked Faith in the 
face, he would have been justified in saying, 
‘‘ That is a remarkable-looking girl ! ” 


CHAPTEK yilL 

A GKEAT NOCTURNAL STIR. 

Soon after Faith’s church-visit in the last 
chapter, there was an unusual stir on Boston 
Common one night. This piece of town property 
was at the foot of Beacon Hill, a gaunt elevation 
whose summit had been used for beacon purposes 
until the British made an end to it all. The Com- 
mon was a piece of public property, put to every 
kind of use. Cows were pastured on the Com- 
mon. People might go there for pleasure, and 
their visits might be of a sadder nature ; people 
had been hung on Boston Common. 

When the British soldiers in their scarlet pride 
came marching into the city, the Common that 
welcomed the cows was obliged to take care of 
the soldiers. The old cow-pasture became a camp. 

Whatever was meant by this stir in the night 
of Tuesday, April 18 th, the massing and march- 
ing of the red-coated men, it sent a thrill of alarm 
all through the streets and lanes of Boston. Ku- 
mor said that the magazines of stores accumulated 
by order of the Provincial Congress, one maga- 
zine at Worcester and another at Concord, were 

87 


88 PiFEE-BOY OP THE BOSTOH SIEGE. 

the coveted object of this movement of troops. 
The Common then sloped down into the water 
that twice a day came roiling in from the sea, 
and about eight hundred scarlet coats under Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Smith marched as far as the shores 
of the Common. There, boats from the British 
men-of-war received them, and off into the night 
they were rowed. It was Destiny embarking, 
the Destiny of war. Not a drum had been 
tapped. Every footstep, as it were, had been 
muffled. The departure was supposed to be a 
profound secret. That day, British serjeants in 
disguise had been ordered off into Cambridge and 
the country west to prevent all troublesome com- 
munication between rebel Boston and an outside 
rebel world. 

The boatmen rowing those troops off into the 
night, shipped oars on the Cambridge shore. The 
troops were disembarked, and by midnight a 
day’s rations had been packed away, the cold, 
ugly marshes had been conquered, and the in- 
vaders were tramping over the road stretching 
on to Concord. Not a drum was echoing. Every- 
thing was muffled in secrecy. 

Was it a secret ? 

“ They will miss their aim,” quietly observed a 
Boston citizen standing on the Common, Tuesday 
evening, and witnessing the embarkation of Brit- 
ish troops. 


A great Nocturnal sTik. 


80 


“ What aim ? ” inquired Lord Percy, a leading 
British officer, and interested in shrouding from 
curious eyes this anxiously planned secret. 

“ Why, the cannon at Concord ! ” replied the 
citizen. 

Cannon at Concord ? Indeed ! 

Lord Percy was alarmed. He made hasty steps 
across the Common and carried the story to Gen- 
eral Gage. Orders were hurriedly sent out that 
nobody should be allowed to leave Boston. One 
must be in haste to cut the wings of that fleet 
bird, Humor. 

Joseph Warren, a foremost patriot, had already 
that night started two messengers for Lexington 
with tidings of the movement. One was Wm. 
Dawes, whose appointed route was the road round 
through Eoxbury. The second Avas Paul Eevere, 
and he had been rowed in the moonlight across 
Charles Eiver, rippling peacefully past the British 
men-of-war, to the ocean. In Charlestown, be- 
side a swift horse, Paul Eevere waited to catch a 
certain sign. He looked toAvard the belfry of 
Christ Church to get this signal. 

And AAffiat might be its nature ? 

“If the British march 
By land or sea from the town to-night, 

Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch 
Of the North Church tower as a signal light : 

One if by land and two if by sea, 


90 FIFER-BOY OP fH]^ BOSfON SIEGE. 

And I on the opposite shore will be, 

Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
through every Middlesex village and farm, 

For the country-folk to be up and to arm.” * 

* Longfellow’s “Paul Revere’s Ride.” 

The North Church was our Christ Church, lo- 
cated in the northern part of Boston. It was a 
child of the unpopular Church of England. Its 
rector, Dr. Mather Byles, had been no friend to 
the Sons of Liberty. What patriot would now 
smuggle his way into the church, mount the 
tower stairs and there throw out Liberty’s signal 
to Paul Kevere ? 

Faith Ainsley, Tuesday night, went out into 
Salem Street. How could she stay indoors ? The 
town was in hot alarm. 

Grandfather Parker had taken to Faith’s door 
the news of the night departure of troops from 
the Common by the stealthily rowed boats. Then 
Grandmother Parker fluttered over to discuss the 
matter with Grandmother Ainsley. Tom had 
gone to Watertown on an errand for his grand- 
father, and how Faith wished he were back in 
the shadow of the “ Old North ! ” 

She left the two grandmothers talking away, 
and in her uneasiness walked over to Salem Street, 
and then to her beloved church, with its fast- 
closed doors. 

“ Ah — ah ! ” exclaimed a voice. This is the 



mitiifnA 


rr . i iMiio'i 


The Old North Church. (Page 90.) 





A Gisi:Ar noctGbnal stir. 9I 

Church of England, and an enemy of our 
rights.” 

It was Azariah Parker who spoke. Faith was 
ready. 

‘‘It is true our rector sympathizes with the 
king, but this day his rectorship closed, and he 
has left us and is going away to I^ew Hampshire, 
and why does he go ? Because so many of his 
people are as good patriots as you are. You 
don’t find any fault with the sexton?” 

Faith spoke earnestly and continued: 

“ The sexton, sir, Kobert Newman ! He is 
true, but he is in a hard place. He is in a nest of 
pirates. A lot of British ofiicers have been quar- 
tered at his house, as if they thought he needed 
watching. He would like to help, but he is really 
in prison, you may say.” 

They separated. 

Faith walked toward Kobert Newman’s house 
on Salem Street. Suddenly looking up at the 
tower of Christ Church, she saw a light flashed 
quickly out, and then a second. Who swung 
those lanterns out into the night ? 

Robert Newman, the sexton of the church, 
and a faithful lover of his country. 

He was sitting at a window of his home await- 
ing a signal that was to be given him if the reg- 
ulars were moving. He caught from a friend the 
signal, and hastily rose. British officers were in 


§2 


PifeM-boT of the PosTon SIPgP. 


the house, both suspecting and watching him.^ 
Taking a candle as if to go to bed, he went up- 
stairs to his room. He did not stay there. He 
crawled out of a rear window upon “ a lean-to.” 
Cautiously making his way down to the ground, 
he stole to the church, entered, climbed the bel- 
fry stairs and hung out the signal lanterns. 

Lanterns swung out into the night. Liberty’s 
beacon flaming forth its imperative tidings, sig- 
nals too, saying that the “ Old North Church,” 
child of the English Church, was true to Liberty, 
and its sexton had turned it into Freedom’s sig- 
nal-tower. 

Below, Faith was looking up and watching. 
The light excited her. Their hasty flames seemed 
to shoot through her sensitive soul. The lanterns 
finally were Avithdrawn. All was dark. All Avas 
still, save as a moonbeam might steal within and 
a timid pigeon complain. 

Kobert Newman stole down the dusty stairs in 
the shadowy tower, slipped through the church, 
and made his way to his chamber even as he had 
left it. When the alarmed British officers 
searched his room, he Avas found in bed, appar- 
ently resting in an uninterrupted slumber. Dar- 
ing Eobert Newman ! True lover of Freedom ! 
He had given the signal. Yes, the secret was out, 

*This story I have from Robert Newman’s granddaughter, 
and that is good authority. E. A. R. 


A ^fOCfC/BJStAL S'J^IE. &3 

flashed from a Church of England belfry, and in 
response on the Charlestown side of the river, 
a horse’s ringing hoofs beat out the tune that ac- 
companied Paul Kevere’s ride into Middlesex 
County. 

Kobert Newman suspected of kindling that 
belfry warning was arrested. He was thrown 
into jail. Proof against him was not sufficient to 
convict him, and he was released. 

Grandfather Parker said to Faith that night, 
when the swinging lanterns had flashed their 
sharp warning across Charles Kiver, “ Faith, the 
war has begun ! ” 

Faith’s heart fluttered in pain like a wounded 
bird. She thought of her prayers in the old 
church-pew, and then a Hand seemed to be laid 
on her heart and stilled it. 


CHAPTEE IX. 


AN OLD COUNTRY ROAD. 

There was an old country road, not one of to- 
day’s spruce, straight, trim, ambitious roads, but 
an old one that went its own wilful way, here 
winding to avoid a boulder, and foolish enough 
in another place obstinately to toil over a hill. 
It had linings of stone walls and occasionally a 
fence of wood, but it did as it wished in these 
things. It was not a modern, communistic road, 
with house plots opening upon it, the fences all 
down, but as a rule, it had a thrifty sense of prop- 
erty and its belongings were carefully enclosed. 
There was nothing set about it though, any way, 
for if a house wished to come out plump upon 
the road and stare at those passing by, its right 
would not have been questioned. 

This old road had its accompaniment of trees, 
but this feature was after its own fashion. There 
was not to-day’s methodical planting of trees, so 
many feet apart, a rule never broken, for weary- 
ing distances. Of course, there might be on the 
old road here and there rows of trees, but if an 
elm took it into its head to send out a colony of 
94 


AN OLD COUNTRY ROAD. 


95 


elms, they would probably come up as nature 
bade. If a maple seed came along on the back 
of a wind willing to carry it, whenever the wind 
was weary of it, the seed fell, sprouted, grew, 
opening into an arbor for the refreshment of 
summer pilgrims, and then autumn hung it all 
over with Chinese lanterns. Now and then the 
road went by an apple orchard, and this year, it 
is said, the orchards flowered early, and each 
blossom was like a sweet little face flushed with 
pink in surprise at its early coming out. 

This road was not accustomed to see anything 
very eventful passing along its sandy or gravelly 
or clayey bed. There were not likely to be any 
very boisterous noises, certainly anything disa- 
greeably demonstrative. During the week, you 
Avould hear at times the squeaking rattle of a 
wagon whose wheels might need oiling, or a hay- 
cart would go toiling along, all stuffed with hay, 
and on top of its plumpness would squat two or 
three grinning boys or girls. It might be winter, 
and up the white-coated way would come the 
music of bells clashing merrily, and behind the 
family mare in an old ark of a sleigh might ride 
a young man looking confused but happy, and 
at his side would sit a young woman whose 
blushes were hidden beneath the color that the 
north wind had provoked. 

If it were the Sabbath, the old country road 


96 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

heard no squeaking of rheumatic wagons on 
worldly errands, or jolting of loaded hay-carts or 
soft speeches of “courting parties” journeying 
for the pleasure of it. From the box-belfry of 
some box-meeting house, would fly down a flock 
of bell-notes, thicker than the pigeons ever hiding 
there, and in response there would be a rusty rattle 
of all styles and sizes of family vehicles on their 
way in reverent procession to the meeting-house. 
No whistling boys or jolly lasses or joking 
seniors now, but things were staid and decorous. 
The most irreverent noise that the old road 
heard, would be a bullfrog croaking on a swamp- 
log in spring, or a bobolink exulting over June, 
or a cricket sawing its way through an endless 
day in September, or a crow flapping its black 
wings as it solemnly cawed, cawed, over the 
white snow of December. Let Monday morning 
come though, and out would pop various jubilant 
noises as if secretly glad the Sabbath restrictions 
were over. A boy standing in a farmhouse door, 
might halloo two or three times just for the fun 
of it, or a girl dancing slyly in an orchard might 
break out into an impassioned love ditty. 

Nor was the road wont to see anything un- 
usually sad. Along the road’s grey, dusty line 
in summer or over its chilling whiteness in win- 
ter, might wearily walk a column of unhappy 
souls in black, following a bier on which some- 


AN OLD COUNTRY ROAD. 


97 


thing slept that never again would wake, but 
those who died went out of this life in the usual 
way. It was fever that burnt out one’s vitality, 
or it was a heart collapse letting one down into 
the grave, or the dreaded shadow that would 
deepen into the darkness of night was ‘‘ a goin’ 
into a decline,” and then the sun would set as 
one wearily closed the eyes in “consumption.” 
Still all this was expected. In one sense, there 
was nothing unusual about it, and the funeral 
procession was something after the customary 
order. 

If the demonstration involved a procession of an- 
other kind, it was something civic, and if it were 
the militia out on a “ trainin’-day,” it was peace- 
ful. The swords carried then were bloodless. 
The will behind the old flintlock was not hostile. 

I have called it a country road. It is true the 
highway wound in and out of several clusters of 
homes, but they were only villages. One had 
the dignity which only a college can give, Cam- 
bridge, but the college was small and it was a 
part of a hamlet. The rule was that of scattered 
country homes, orchards fluttering in a breeze 
with pink and white blossoms, elm-trees here and 
there, giving stately salutations to the breeze, or 
scattered maples, or groves where the imprisoned 
wind in the evergreen made its mild, musical 
complaint. This was the country road that our 


98 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

Tuesday’s sun went down upon, and upon a life 
simple and uneventful, deepened the hush of 
sleep. 

In the depths of the night along this quiet 
country road rang out the hoofs of a horse, 
hurrying, hurrying, and at lonely farmhouses 
and in villages, the rider raised a warning cry. 
Some dreaded horror was coming along this same 
old quiet road! Up, up, up, every one! Turn 
out ! It was Paul Eevere out on his famous ride 
from Charlestown into Middlesex County, shout- 
ing that the British were coming. Like a steamer 
leaving behind it a whitening wake in the blue 
sea, an agitation reaching out farther and farther, 
so behind the fleet rider was an alarm that 
widened every moment. 

Farmhouses were aroused. Nightcaps popped 
out of bed. Lights were flashing from window 
to window, while in the villages bells were 
crazily swinging, sending in the moonlight their 
wild warning from belfry to belfry. 

William Dawes had joined Paul Kevere, and 
they aroused Lexington together. This was at 
midnight, and then joined by Dr. Prescott, they 
sprang away for Concord. 

Two others sprang away from Lexington in 
time to escape the clutch of the British. These 
were two leading patriots, John Hancock and 
Sanauel Adams. They were at the Lexington 


AN OLD COUNTRY ROAD. 99 

parsonage, the home of the Kev. Jonas Clark. 
The British commander in Boston knew that 
these men were somewhere in the neighborhood 
of the coveted military stores, and to capture 
them was one aim of that night expedition. The 
alarm of Dawes and Kevere reached Lexington 
in time to make that aim useless as an arrow’s 
flight to overtake the sun. 

At Lexington, there gathered the defenders of 
this little village on the country road. 

I can see the forms of the minutemen running 
to the village common. Each took his old fa- 
miliar musket, I hear the rattle of the drum. 
The bell in the quaint-fashioned belfry near the 
meeting-house must have rung and rung as if 
it had gone mad. What a crazy “Clang — 
clang ! ” 

“ U p — up ! ” it shrieked. “ Out — out ! ” 

The minutemen rallied, and then waited 
nervously for the Horror that was feeling its way 
along the old country road in the dark ! 

“ Disperse, ye villains ! ” cried Major Pitcairn, 
riding at the head of the column. “Ye rebels, 
disperse ! Lay down your arms ! Why don’t 
you lay down your arms and disperse ! ” 

Shall minutemen scatter like chaff before the 
breeze stirring across the threshing-floor ? Never ! 

“Don’t Are unless you are fired on, but if they 
want a war, let it begin here,” cried the captain 


L«rG« 


100 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

of the minutemen, Parker, who with Wolfe had 
climbed the Heights of Abraham at Quebec. 

The firing began. 

When the breath of flame from the dragon of 
war had passed over the little band of minute- 
men, seven lay dead, nine were wounded. The 
hurt to the other side is not worth reporting. 

Then the Horror moved on toward Concord. 
It was the Breath of Death going up with the 
grey damp curling above the morning meadows. 

Kevere and Dawes did not reach Concord. 
They were captured by British officers sent out 
previously, but the}" afterward were released at 
Lexington. It has been already said that Samuel 
Adams and John Hancock were in Lexington. 
They were in the van of Liberty’s column, and 
the British troops would gladly have thrown fet- 
ters about them, but they escaped. Adams saw 
what the sad collision on Lexington green meant, 
and he cried, “ Oh, what a glorious morning is 
this ! ” One other patriot escaped. Dr. Prescott. 
He was with Bevere and Dawes when the Brit- 
ish officers made a dash upon the party. Pres- 
cott spurred on his horse, jumped a stone wall, 
and away he went, galloping toward Concord. 

Between one and two o’clock in the morning, 
the sharp clang of Concord’s courthouse bell 
aroused the town. It was a wild ringing in 
alarm. The minutemen rallied. From house to 


AN OLD COUNTRY ROAD. 


101 


house and beyond the limits of the town, the 
fright had gone like the jar of an earthquake, 
and the niinutemen outside of Concord began to 
gather. 

It was seven o’clock, and an April sun was 
placidly shining on the little town, when the 
Horror of Lexington came up the road ! There 
it was, a long British column, tramping toward 
the heart of the town. And what was found ? 
Almost all the coveted military stores had been 
secreted! Beyond the north bridge spanning 
little Concord Kiver, waited the minutemen. 
They could look across the bridge and see Brit- 
ish soldiers. They looked toward the village 
and saw the smoke rolling up from a fire started 
in the courthouse. Could they linger in quiet 
when the town was in danger ? They started to 
cross the bridge. They were told, though, not 
to snap their old flintlocks unless the British 
fired on them. Forward it was, even forward. 
At the Concord Centennial, in 1875, there was 
shown all that was left of a sword carried by 
Captain Isaac Davis of the Acton company this 
April morning in 1775. 

There is about a foot gone,” said Judge 
Hoar, “ but it would only require him to have 
taken one step farther forward, which he would 
willingly have done.” By that forward move- 
ment, prompt, alert, every man in that historic 


102 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

band was making up for any deficient equipment, 
for a sword too short or a gun out of fashion. 
They had been ordered not to fire unless attacked, 
and on, on, on they marched, when that dragon 
breath of flame, so fatal at Lexington, swept 
hot and deadly across sleepy Concord River. 
The British had fired, and the minutemen were 
dropping. Then the order came from Major 
Buttrick, clear and ringing ; “ Fire, fellow-sol- 
diers, for God’s sake, fire ! ” 

Several of the British were wounded. Two 
were killed. In graves near the winding river, 
their bodies rest to-day. 

‘ The British retreated from the bridge, and 
about noon they fell back from Concord, retiring 
along the line of the road by which they had 
come, and what a retreat it was ! The minute- 
men from Massachusetts towns were flocking to 
the old country road, for the alarm had gone out, 
far and near. The stone walls lining the road 
whose only vocation had been to serve as bound- 
aries and gather moss, were to take on the dig- 
nity of ramparts behind which the minutemen 
rallied. The uneventful elms, the peaceful 
maples, the apple-trees in the orchard, were to 
become blockhouses giving protection to men 
who would blaze away with their flintlocks, and 
then run to the next elm, maple or apple-tree, 
and blaze way again. To these natural fortifica- 


AU OLD COUNTRY ROAD. 


l03 


lions, the Middlesex minutemen hurried promptly. 
One company that came up from Danvers, made 
its sixteen miles in four hours. The Middlesex 
County regiment gathered at the meeting-house 
in Watertown, Thomas Gardner, Colonel. They 
were in debate, and there was room for the con- 
sideration of the question just where the enemy 
might be and how it was best to meet them. 
Into the meeting-house rushed the captain of the 
Newton company, Michael Jackson. His sight 
had kindled over news received of the need of 
immediate action, and as he spoke to the meet- 
ing, his eyes shot lire and his words went out 
like arrows. He told the meeting “that the 
time for talking had passed and the time 
for lighting had come ; that if they meant 
to oppose the march of the British, they must 
immediately take up their march for Lexington, 
and that he intended that his company should 
take the shortest route to get a shot at the Brit- 
ish.’’ That speech cleared the meeting-house 
floor. Each company was left to its own will. 
Out upon the village common they fluttered, the 
Watertown company under its resolute Samuel 
Barnard, going, it is said, up old Meeting-house 
Hill, the Newton company marching under the 
spirited Michael Jackson, all, all, tramping off in a 
frenzied mood of patriotism. They were not only 
ready for Lexington, but were to learn of another 


104 FIFER-BOV OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

movement of British troops, and this time one of 
rescue under Lord Percy. It was feared in Bos- 
ton that the night force sent out might be in dan- 
ger, and Lord Percy with a band of twelve hun- 
dred was ordered to the rescue. The peril was 
thought to be immediate, and a start as early as 
four o’clock in the morning had been planned. 

The forces did not get off until nearly nine. 
The long, handsome column moved proudly out 
of Boston, and to the tune of Yankee Doodle, 
played in derision, the soldiers kept step. To a 
kind of country picnic they were going, and 
nothing more serious by way of music was 
needed. They marched along Boston ISTeck road 
that stretched through the marshes, then tramped 
through Koxbury, and into Brighton. 

Following the Cambridge road, the soldierly 
step of the regulars shook the bridge crossing the 
Charles. Cambridge had been aroused in the 
night by the excited ringing of bells and beating 
of drums, the cry echoing everywhere, “ The 
regulars are out ! To arms ! ” And here was 
the second band of regulars pushing along 
through the town to — what place ? Where 
would anxious Lord Percy find the rest of his 
scarlet flock ? 

About two o’clock in the afternoon, he reached 
a point in Lexington a mile or so from the Com- 
mon crimsoned in the morning, when looking up. 


Aj^ old Counted iwAb. 


l05 


the martial shepherd saw the rest of his flock ! 
In a tumult, they were coming down the old 
country road, excited, almost exhausted, in the 
disorder of a rout, while about them hovered the 
avenging fire of the Middlesex minutemen, Lord 
Percy ordering his cannon to the front, formed 
his men into a hollow square, and so received his 
fugitive flock that threw itself prostrate on the 
ground like sheep worn out by flight, and 
there rested awhile. And Boston ten miles 
away ! A gauntlet of fire ten miles long to run ? 
A weary crawling, it would be at times. On, on, 
on, toiled the British, while in the rear of the 
stone walls of the old country road, in the 
depths of groves, behind buildings, trees, rocks, 
stood the minutemen. 

The shouts of officers, the groans of the 
wounded, the firing of guns, the rattling of gun 
carriages, the beating of drums, the smoke, flame, 
made a strange melee. The burning of buildings, 
fired by the British, added another element to the 
horrors of the hour. Pandemonium and Bedlam 
seemed let loose along that road, and in the rear 
stalked the skeleton. Death. 

Such a crippled column that went through 
Menotomy or West Cambridge, and finally 
plodded in pain and disgrace over Charlestown 
ISTeck. 

The guns of the British warships covered the 


106 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SlKGE. 

passage of Lord Percy’s troops across the river. 
It is not on record what music closed up this 
march back to Boston, but one is safe in assuming 
it was not the Yankee Doodle that accompanied 
the march out of the rebel town. That day, of 
killed, wounded and missing, there were two 
hundred and seventy-three on the British side, 
and ninety-three on the American. 

Tuesday, April 18th, when the sun went down, 
the old country road was a winding, picturesque 
way bordered with quiet homes and leafy trees, 
and in the gold sifted by the east rays of the sun 
through the branches, fell the blessing of Peace. 

At sunset, April 19th, it was a strangely 
trampled, belittered, disordered way ! War, so 
strange, so grim, had passed over it, and in one 
short day left its ineffaceable signs on the coun- 
try road. There were the marks of shot on the 
trees, the buildings, the fences. Bullets had torn 
the delicate wings of the apple blossoms. Out 
in the grey dust, on the stones in the mossy 
walls, in the hollows by the wayside where the 
birds of last year had built their nests, were spat- 
ters of blood. 

And yet as no advance in human rights is ever 
made without serious cost, so this old country 
road became a famous path to the altar of Lib- 
erty where bloody but effective sacrifice was 
made both for America and England. 


CHAPTEE X. 

TOM ON THE NINETEENTH. 

WiiAT was it somebody was saying to Tom 
Parker ? He was asleep, but he had an idea that 
somebody was saying something to him, and he 
was trying to reach forward and receive the 
message. 

He was sleeping in a bedroom on the first 
floor of the Watertown farmhouse. He had 
been sent out by Grandfather Parker to tell the 
Watertown kindred that something was going to 
happen. Just what, he could not say, but it was 
expected — so the story ran — that there would be 
a movement of troops, and though of course the 
troops might not possibly move, Grandfather 
Parker thought the Springs ought to know about 
the rumor. 

Tom was sent to Watertown to tell all that 
Grandfather Parker knew or guessed, and also 
to gather up any news straying round Water- 
town. 

It was only the night before this chapter be- 
gins that Tom said to Aunt ISTabby Spring, “Aunt, 

107 


io8 FiFEii BoY oB TUB BosToB siBgB. 

I am glad I am out here where I can hear every- 
thing, and I am in a good situation to jump to 
right or left even as the regulars may go to Wor- 
cester or Concord. All I have got to do is to 
watch things, to keep my eyes open.” 

For hours those eyes had been shut. Tom had 
gone to bed very tired, and very late in the morn- 
ing was he sleeping in his bedroom on the ground 
floor. Sleeping ? He was dreaming also. He 
thought he was in a well, and somebody was try- 
ing to reach him. He was trying also to reach 
this somebody, climbing, listening, struggling, 
hearing what he could — and there was only a 
confused sound — as he went higher, higher, wor- 
rying up out of the well, when suddenly he 
opened his eyes, and there was a man’s face at 
the window, and a man’s voice was excitedly 
saying, “Wake up, boy! Where be you? Oh, 
Tom, them devils are out ! ” 

Tom gave a jump and landed out in the 
floor. 

“ You don’t say. Uncle Thad 1 ” 

“ But I do say it.” 

“ Where be they ? ” 

“ Over in the Lexington road somewhar, a-cut- 
tin’ up, now, I tell ye.” 

“Oh, my! And I sleeping through it all! 
Well, thank you. Uncle Thad ! I — I ” 

Uncle Thaddeus moved off, and Tom gave his 


TOM ON THE NiNETkENTH. loS 

thoughts to his clothes. Where were they ? He 
flew about, rushing from chair to chair. 

“ Why, what are you up to ? What’s all this 
noise ? ” asked Aunt Nab by Spring, appearing at 
the bedroom door, flour on her bare, rounded 
arms. 

“Trying to dress. Aunt Nabby, but I don’t 
make much headway,” said Tom, knocking over 
two chairs and tumbling across a third, then 
bumping into a table. “ Oh, dear, where are my 
things? Here’s my breeches! Yes, here’s my 
coat ! And I’ve been sleeping all this time, and 
I ought to have been over in Lexington, I don’t 
know how long ago ! What a shame 1 Great 
patriot I am ! ” He was ramming a leg down a 
sleeve of his coat and putting an arm into his 
breeches. 

“ I am in a dreadful hurry. Aunt Nabby. Put 
me up some bread and butter and ” 

Aunt Nabby Spring was grinning at him 
through her spectacles. 

“Now, Tom, don’t git so flustered. You stop 
and have some breakfast. I’ve been keepin’ it 
hot for ye.” 

“ Oh, I can’t stop — where is the bread ?” 

“ But where are you goin’ ? ” 

“ Over to Lexington.” 

“ But take it calmer — ’tis terrible news, I know. 
If Thad didn’t have but one leg, he’d git over. 


liO FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGN, 

If your Uncle Saul was livin’ ” — here the widow 
wiped away a tear — “ he would go. Our hired 
man, Zebulon Scott, he’s too narvous.” 

“ Narvous ? I should think any one would be.' 
And to think I came out here for a Son of Lib- 
erty, to be on hand to jump whichever way the 
regulars went, and if I haven’t been asleep and 
they’ve got beyond me ! I can’t be calm. Aunt 
Nabby.” 

Tom went off, buttoning up his vest, buckling 
his shoes, eating his bread and butter, all at once. 

Aunt Nab by stood in the front door, and her 
spectacles flashed in the sun as she watched Tom 
running through the orchard. She murmured : 

“Tom’s grandfather in Boston thinks he is 
stupid, and he never wakes up. I should think 
he was stirred up now. There he goes tumblin’ 
over that stone wall ! Why didn’t he take the 
road ? ” 

She screamed, “ Tom, Tom ! Do take it easy ! ” 

Tom did not hear. Neither did he stop to And 
out how much he was hurt. He limped off, with 
one hand rubbing his leg, with the other trying 
to button up a garment. His bread he had al- 
ready thrown away. 

“ Tom’s awake at last ! ” murmured Aunt Nabby 
Spring. “ I wish the folks in Boston could see 
him.” 

She laid her hand on her heart and sighed. 


T03I ON THE NINETEENTH. 


Ill 


“Oh, dear I Seems as if the world was a-comin’ 
to an end.” 

The farmhouse, a plain, substantial structure 
of two stories, sat in dignity a little distance 
from the road, as if it would get away from a 
trifling, wearying, wicked world supposed to be 
traveling along the highway. Yery little dis- 
turbance, though, did the neighborhood ever wit- 
ness. The house occupied a lovely site on a 
gently swelling hill slope, turning the most of its 
windows toward a southerly and easterly sun. At 
the foot of the hill a brook undoubtedly babbled, 
even as it musically babbles to-day, picturesquely 
winding through grounds artistically kept. Be- 
yond the brook, the land towered in great, green 
heights, rising up like an immense weather-wall 
to keep off the north wind. There are houses on 
the side of those heights to-day, tucked away 
in the green like birds’ nests, while at the foot 
dash and rattle and roar the many railroad trains 
going to or hurrying from the great city. There 
were no such noises then. An occasional team in 
the road might raise a little clatter, but it agree- 
ably suggested life. From the emerald heights, 
where the wind told its love in endless whispers 
to the pines, came to a listener in the valley the 
twitter of birds, the jubilant song of robin and 
bobolink in their season, and the solemn, persist- 
ent cawing of the crows at all times. 


112 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

Tom had gone out of the front door, and in 
trying to jump across the brook, jumped into it. 
He did not mind. He scrambled out of it, and 
then hurried into the road. 

This he soon left, and as it was very winding, 
he concluded to take “ a bee-line ” across to the 
point where the road went over the Lexington 
border. How he ran that line he never could 
tell, through what woods, across what pastures, 
over what walls. He had been “ a-berryin’ ” in 
that neighborhood, and thought he could intelli- 
gently make this present venture. He simply 
floundered on and with energy. When he did 
Anally strike the Lexington road again, his 
clothes were torn and his hands were bleeding, 
but he did not mind it. 

“ Let me see,” he reflected. “ I have been 
along this way before, and I think this road 
comes out at the east end of the towm. If I go 
across lots, I shall come out in the centre, and 
across lots it is.” 

He again tried to imagine he was a bee mak- 
ing for its hive, but the bee zigzagged into some 
strange places before he got through. The roofs 
of “the centre” finally rose before him, and he 
excitedly strode out upon the Common. The 
village was in a hubbub. The fighting strength 
of the town had moved on to Concord. Its 
talking strength was in good condition, and 


TOM ON THE NINETEENTH. 


113 


everybody had something to say to Tom about 
the disaster of the morning. 

Concord ? Then he must go there, though ad- 
vised to move with caution, as no one could say 
how many regulars had been posted along the 
road as patrols. Tom was fired with a special 
energy. He must go. That he might, as ad- 
vised, go cautiously, he left the road and floun- 
dered through watery obstacles and climbed over 
the dry ones, but on — on — on, panting, perspir- 
ing, urged by the conviction that he must do 
something. 

Hark ! Did he hear the pop of distant musketry ? 

He listened intently. 

“ Yes, that is it ! ’’ he said, eagerly. He saw a 
little hill gently swelling up from the road and 
promising to command a view ahead. 

‘‘ That’s it ! ” he said, his face flushed, his sight 
strained. “ That is smoke up there ! They’re 
firing Oh, dear ! ” 

Pop — pop — pop — went the guns. Down the 
little hill he ran, on, on, took a position behind 
a tree, looked ahead, and there it was — -a red 
tumult writhing along the road ! 

“Can’t I do something? ” wondered Tom. 

Ho, nothing. He was without arms. Perhaps 
— perhaps — some poor minuteman might be hit 
and left behind. Tom could look after him, he 
thought. 


114 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


He fell back from the line of the road and let 
the red cloud roll by him, the minutemen pass 
also as they hurried on, pushing this movement 
which, while it was a retreat for one side, was a 
chase for the other. 

The tumult swept through Lexington and 
over the morning field of battle, but amid what 
changed conditions did the British go ! 

Tom followed. He followed till looking ahead 
he saw Lord Percy’s strong, unbroken column 
pressing up the road from Boston. Within a 
proud hollow square, the fugitives were received, 
and then came a halt, two fieldpieces between 
Lord Percy’s men and the minutemen command- 
ing at least a temporary respect. 

At last, the command to move on ran along 
the British line, and the retreat was continued. 
A soldierly tramp was heard again, the flags 
waved, and the fieldpieces rattled on.^ 

If Tom had had a gun in each hand, pistols on 
either side, a cannon rumbling before him, a can- 
non rumbling behind him, a keener martial thrill 
could not have gone through his soul. A sol- 
dier’s destiny though was not before him, that day. 

What was it he saw over at the right ? What 
object bright and yet hid by the undergrowth 
was in motion there ? 

Tom had been feeling a burden of responsibility 
for the day’s outcome, a soldier’s responsibility, 


TOM ON THE NINETEENTH. 115 

and now was he going to neglect this field of 
duty though it might not be a martial one ? 

He found a British soldier who, wounded in 
the intermittent combat, had been left behind, 
and had crawled into a leafy growth. 

“ Tom, you don’t know me,” was the voice that 
surprised Tom. 

‘‘ Who — who are you ? ” 

‘‘Call me Graham, and you will find out.” 

“ Graham ? This you f And — and ” 

“ Wounded ? Yes, struck in the leg by a bullet. 
How, let that go. I feel pretty weak, Tom, and 
let me ask you if you could get me over to some 
place near a doctor. I don’t want to stop here, 
Tom — for they would make me a prisoner here 
and they will, I dare say, at Watertown — and if 
I can choose my prison I would like to get to 
Watertown near a doctor. I feel more at home 
there — and those relatives of mine may turn up 
— and — what is that ? Can you get that man ? 
I have gold to pay him if he will go.' Take this 
with you.” 

Tom knew what Graham wanted. He ran 
back to the road where wagon wheels were mak- 
ing a heavy clatter. 

The driver looked kindly, and Tom beckoned 
to him. 

“ Whoa there, Hannah ! ” said the man to his 
mare. 


116 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

‘‘ Will you take a load to Watertown for this ? ” 
asked Tom, stepping out into the road. 

He held up a half sovereign. The man nodded 
assent, alighted and followed Tom. 

When he saw the British soldier, he asked, 
“ That — the load ? If it is, then, no sir ! ” 

“ Why not ?” 

“He is an emeny of my country.” 

“ You would not say so if you knew what he 
thinks of this war. You see I know him, and 
have talked with him before to-day. I don’t be- 
lieve he will fight for the British now that we 
are going to have fighting. You know what a 
Whig is?” 

“ I am a Whig,” said the man proudly. 

“ That man is a Whig. I am too,” said Tom, 
with stiff dignity. 

“The case looks different. Where do you 
want me to take him ? ” ' 

“He wants to be near a doctor in Watertown, 
and I know a man there — Abraham Wadsworth 
— where perhaps he may stop.” 

“ So do I know him, and a good man he is, and 
he has a good wife, Sally.” 

“ I have heard that they take people to board 
when the tavern is full, and I want him carried 
there.” 

“ I am ready.” 

His rpdiness was quickened into alacrity when 


TOM ON THE NINETEENTH. 


117 


he again saw Graham’s gold in Tom’s hand, and 
the wounded soldier was soon at the Wads- 
worths’ door. 

The Wadsworths were elderly people, glad to 
pick up a shilling as a help toward a rainy day 
fund, and the gleam of Graham’s gold threw a 
convincing light on the path of their present 
duty. 

A doctor was quickly brought, Graham’s 
wound examined, pronounced hopeful and 
dressed. Then came a period of quiet resting on 
a bed made up in the fore room. The door out 
of this into the kitchen was open, and Graham 
could but hear fragments of conversation in the 
kitchen. 

“ Hush ! ” said Sally. “ Let hini git some rest. 
I want to say suthin’ afore Tom goes.” Her 
voice became inaudible. It was distinct again. 
“ I ought to have somebody to help me.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Tom. 

“ Sartin ! ” declared Abraham. 

The voices sank so low they were lost to Gra- 
ham. 

But up they rose again. 

“ It must be somebody real stiddy,” observed 
Sally. Don’t want anybody giddy like.” 

“ How. old ? ” asked Tom. ‘‘ If I am to get 
anybody, you want one ” 

“Old enough to know how to handle them- 


118 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

selves,’’ remarked Abraham, in a loud tone. 
“None of your youngsters for me.” 

“Hush — hush! I want him to sleep,” said 
Sally. 

Here the voices died away, Graham reflecting, 
“ They want an old woman, I suppose.” 

The}^ began talking again. 

“Yes,” said Sally, “and real strong too.” 

“ A man is good at lifting,” remarked Abra- 
ham, but in a tone so injudiciously loud that 
Sally was obliged to hush him into silence. 

Here Graham became very drowsy, and his 
last conscious thought was, “ They are going to 
have a man — strong — who can handle me.” 

He came out of a hasty nap, to hear Abraham 
ask, “ Do you s’pose they’ll arrest him ? ” 

“ Hush 1 ” said the prudent wife. 

There was a long interval of silence. Graham 
again went to sleep, and in his sleep, various per- 
sons crossed the track of his dreams. One was a 
white haired old woman. 

“ My nurse I ” thought Graham. 

The second was a very solemn middle-aged 
woman in black, and the third was a man, 
robust, muscular. Each time Graham said, 
“ My nurse ! ” 

There was long, unbroken sleep until the third 
nurse appeared again, a man. Then this being 
became very stern and grim and held out chains. 


fOAi oi^ THE NINETEENTH. Il9 

Oh, it is my jailer ! ” moaned the sick man. 

The jailer considerately went off, and then 
who came ? 

A voice said something about “ helpin’ nuss ? ” 
Was it Sally Wadsworth ? Yes. 

Graham felt that one — no — two — were in his 
room, the jailer and who else ? 

“ It is the jailer — that — that man who can 
handle me,” thought Graham. 

He opened his eyes that he might have a full 
look at this grim, bearded jailer, and there — was 
— the most attractive, the most beautiful face in 
the world, that of Miriam Spring ! 

“Thar, thar!” said Sally Wadsworth to the 
patient. “How you go to sleep agin ! It’s only 
Mer-riam Spring that I sent for to come and help 
me. She’s reel handy in sickness. She’ll do her 
best by ye ! How you go to sleep ! ” 

He smiled at the assistant nurse, and dropped 
off into a delicious slumber, dreaming of angels. 


CHAPTEE Xt 


THE AGED PILGRIM. 

An aged pilgrim might have been seen, the 
latter part of a spring day, in the road across 
Boston Neck, moving toward the town. lie 
reached the fortifications built by the British and 
barring the entrance to the town. There he 
halted, and he leaned on his worn, oaken stick. 
His beard was white and his snowy hair streamed 
behind him in the wind of the twilight. A British 
sentry was stolidly tramping near the gateway, 
and he challenged the old man. 

“ Only an old man, sir, — ugh ! It is cold,” 
was the response in high, feeble, quavering 
tones. 

“Ha — ha! Go along! You are. not worth 
challenging.” 

The pilgrim tottered away in silence, but a 
smile lurked in his eyes. He at last reached the 
Old South Meeting-house, still standing, its 
sturdy walls of brick rising up to throw their 
shadow like a silent blessing on the crowds hur- 
rying by. 

How the people in the trying days that pre- 
120 


^HE AGED PILGRIM. 121 

ceded the Kevolution, gathered in the Old South 
to discuss subjects of the greatest moment. 

There was a day in 1770, March 5, forever 
black-marked by an awful collision of the British 
troops with the people. The soldiers fired, kill- 
ing in King street, Crispus Attucks, a mulatto 
and two others, while three were fatally wounded. 

The town was in a frightful commotion. In 
Faneuil Hall, well named the Cradle of Liberty, 
the citizens met and appointed a committee 
whose business was that of requesting the au- 
thorities to remove the British soldiers from 
Boston. At three o’clock the people were sum- 
moned to meet in the Old South to receive the 
committee and hear their report. The building 
was crowded. People came from the surround- 
ing country, filled the building, and then there 
was an overflow crowding the street back to the 
Old State House where sat in council Lieutenant- 
Governor Hutchinson and his colleagues. The 
committee took from the Old State House a com- 
promise report. The crowd in the street parted 
to let the committee pass, and when the report 
was made to the meeting in the Old South, the 
compromise was rejected. 

Sam Adams led the committee back to the Old 
State House to demand the total evacuation of 
the town by the troops. 

The afternoon of the March day was wearing 


122 FIPEE-BO^ of the BOSTOlt iSIEOE. 

away. The people waited in the meeting-house 
&,inid the gathering shadows until the committee 
returned. In the council chamber of the Old 
State House, before the lieutenant-governor, two 
British officers high in rank, twenty-eight coun- 
cillors in robes of scarlet and in long white wigs, 
the people’s committee stood up and repeated 
the people’s demand for the removal of the two 
regiments in Boston. Hutchinson repeated the 
compromise, that one of the two regiments in 
town should be removed, and he added that the 
troops were not subject to his authority, that he 
had no power to remove them. 

Sam Adams boldly said, “ If you have power 
to remove one regiment, you have power to re- 
move both. It is at your peril, if you refuse. 
The meeting is composed of three thousand peo- 
ple. They are becoming impatient. A thousand 
men are already arrived from the neighborhood, 
and the whole country is in motion. Night is 
apprQaching. An immediate answer is expected. 
Both regiments or none ! ” 

Sam Adams and the people’s committee, the 
people’s will behind them all, prevailed. To the 
great meeting waiting in the dark, the answer 
was conveyed. What a mighty shout of rejoic- 
ing rang through all the meeting-house ! 

“ I was there,” said the bent old man in this 
chapter, “ and I heard the people shout.” 


THE AGED PILGRIM. 123 

One December day, the sixteenth, 17Y3, there 
was another great meeting in the Old South. It 
was all about an article that, served in December 
weather, generally will melt any iciness of mood 
in which two parties may be. This time, ‘‘ tea ” 
was anything but a solvent of hard feeling. The 
British government said the colonists must, must 
pay a tax on tea, no matter what they thought 
about its justice, and the East India Company 
sent over a quantity of the herb. The Ameri- 
cans said they would not buy the tea thus taxed 
without their consent. No, they would not 
drink any. There was a great hubbub when the 
tea arrived in Boston harbor. The patriots said 
it must not be landed. They held a meeting in 
the Old South, and if the building had been a 
porcelain pot in which tea was steeping, the con- 
tents could not have been hotter. The captain 
of a tea ship appeared before the meeting and 
declared the governor would not give him a pass 
to go to sea. He was willing to take the poison 
away, but objection was made to his sailing, for 
the governor said the ship was not properly 
cleared. The governor had control of that for- 
tress in the harbor, the castle, and he determined 
no tea ship should go by the fortress, sailing off 
with its cargo. The patriots said no tea ship 
should stay this side of the castle, and the gov- 
ernor would not allow it to go to the other side. 


l24 PiFER BO Y OF THE BOSTON SlEoP. 

What was to be done? Was a poor captain 
of a tea ship to keep it hovering between those 
two danger points ? 

Here and there flared and sputtered candles in 
the meeting-house, for it was a December day, 
and the sun’s taper expired at an early hour. 
The building was packed. Such a sea of heads ! 
It is said seven thousand had been there, that 
day. The owner of the tea ship, an unlucky 
straw caught between two millstones, had given 
his report. 

Sam Adams rose and said, “ This meeting can 
do nothing more to save the country.” It was a 
short speech, with a very long result. It Avas 
a signal. Instantly, in the porch a shout was 
raised. From the gallery rang out clear and 
sharp, an Indian war whoop 1 Had savages ar- 
rived from the forests of the Mohawk valley ? 

Men disguised as Indians jumped out of their 
retreat. The whooping echoed on. These In- 
dians rushed out of the meeting-house. To the 
harbor front went the rough children of the for- 
est. They climbed aboard the tea ships. It is 
claimed that less than twenty Avere in disguise, 
but others from the Old South joined them, 
Avhile apprentices and spectators Avent aboard 
also. Three tea ships lay at Gridin’s Avharf, 
and their visitors Avent to Avork. Into salt 
Avater, they spilled three hundred and forty- 


aOed Pilgrim. i 25 

two chests of tea ! This Indian raid closed that 
chapter. 

“ I hear that Indian war whoop now,” said the 
bent old man. “ I was in the Old South.” 

Still another memorable meeting in the Old 
South was the anniversary in 1775 of the Boston 
massacre. It was the fifth of the month, before 
the battles of Lexington and Concord. The fifth 
of March had been kept every year, and why not 
in 1775, the patriots said. 

The Old South was packed. About forty Brit- 
ish officers came in, representing both army and 
navy. The moderator of the meeting was Sam 
Adams. He received the officers politely, and 
gave them honored places, near the speaker of 
the day, some of them going to the platform 
above the pulpit stairs. Where was the speaker 
on this occasion, Joseph Warren? The crowded 
meeting anxiously expected him. Ah, there he 
was, crawling through the window back of the 
pulpit ! He meant to get in, and thought 
that the least obstructed entrance. AVhat a 
plain, bold address he gave ! It was so true to 
liberty that the officers were offended. When it 
was moved that an orator be appointed for the 
anniversary the coming year, the British officers 
began to hiss. 

‘‘Hiss — hiss — hiss,” came up in sharp tones 
from these critics. 


126 PIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGF. 

The patriots were incensed. A volcano seemed 
let off within the old meeting-house. The ele- 
ments were however finally controlled, the storm 
subsided, and the meeting was closed. 

“ I was here in the Old South and heard that 
hissing and was mad enough,’’ declared the old 
man. 

He shook his head and tottered on. Then he 
gazed upon the building. It would seem as if 
the old man’s look became reverential as he saw 
the meeting-house, but he had very little time 
for the expression of any emotion. He was pass- 
ing a group of British soldiers disposed to be in- 
quisitive. 

“ What is coming ? Who is that ? ” asked 
one. 

“ His stick is straight, but he is crooked 
enough,” said another. ‘‘ Did you notice that ? 
It seemed to me when he passed, he bent a 
good deal very suddenly.” 

“ I would like to know about that case,” the 
first speaker declared. “ I will just see how it is.” 

The old pilgrim, with surprising swiftness, had 
turned down into a lane close by and could not 
be found when his pursuer searched for him. 

“ He has got away,” reported this disappointed 
servant of Britain, returning to the group by the 
Old South. 

While the soldier was speaking, the old man 


THE AGED PILGRIM, 


127 


was running with vigor along a dark passagOAvay. 
They did not see him again. 

That evening, Faith was calling on Grand- 
mother Parker, and they were sitting in front of 
the Parker fireplace. It was a wonderful fire- 
place, and so capacious that there was room for 
a settle on either side of the chimney. It was 
not only big, but well furnished. It had immense 
andirons and a sturdy black crane that would 
swing as obediently to Grandmother Parker’s 
touch as the rooster on the Watertown meeting- 
house at the bidding of the wind. That crane ! 
What pots with savory breath had been wont to 
hang therefrom ! Serena Parker prided herself 
on having as numerous and convenient an array 
of pots as could be found in the kitchen of any 
Boston woman of her station. She could afford 
to have one pot for her potatoes and one for her 
squash and one for her corned beef and half a 
dozen more were taking a vacation. Then there 
was a frying-pan with a handle three feet long, 
and such an odoriferous sizzling as came from 
that pan at times ! Fish for the table to be just 
right in the opinion of Ahaziah could only get there 
by swimming through the fat in that particular 
pan. Then there was a spider that had only 
three legs, and no three-legged spider eA^er did 
such Avonderful Avork as this. Tom thought he 
kneAv every peculiarity of those three legs thor- 


128 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

oughly, exact length, size, shape. Then Serena 
Parker had a radiantly polished teakettle, not to 
mention other pieces of fireplace ware. 

When an event like a big Thanksgiving baking 
was in process, when a row of pots might be 
fuming and boiling, and the teakettle steaming 
and singing, when a turkey was slowly turning 
on the spit, and the flames were jumping up into 
the black throated chimney, one after the other, 
like brownies in golden jackets climbing invisible 
ladders, it was a most fascinating scene as a rule. 

Ahimaaz Parker was not, as a rule, given to sent- 
iment, but he was very much affected by such a 
Thanksgiving picture, and he would silently con- 
template it from his armchair with boundless satis- 
faction. He knew what kind of a dinner was com- 
ing. Around the controlling spirit on such an oc- 
casion as this, the grandmother, Tom would de- 
lightfully flutter ; his quiet, heavy manner gone, 
and his words running over with fine little com- 
pliments to the cook. The above work of the 
fireplace was true of the past. 

How different that fireplace and that room to- 
night ! Ho fire there, though a chilly east wind 
would have made one acceptable. Ho grand- 
father in a Thanksgiving-feast mood! He had 
gone hungry to bed and at an early hour, for 
that would shorten the time to breakfast — a 
slender one. Ho Tom to smile thankfully upon 


THE AGED PILGRIM. 


129 


his grandmother. Only an old woman and a 
young woman Avere before the black fireplace, 
while a candle on a table shed its scanty light as 
if at a funeral. 

‘‘ I shall be glad when Tom is safely back,” 
remarked the grandmother. 

Faith ought to have said, “ So shall I.” She 
was silent. 

Grandmother Parker had tact enough not to 
press Faith to give any opinion. She only re- 
marked, “This Avar is stirring up everything.” 

Faith noAv moaned, “Yes.” And then they 
sat in silence awhile, and looked into the dark 
depths of the fireplace. The candle continued 
to send out its funereal ray. 

There came a loud rap at the door with the 
brass knocker. 

“ I Avill go,” said Faith, seizing the candle. 

“ I Avill go AAdth you. Faith.” 

Faith opened the door timidly, grandmother 
looking over her shoulder as Faith held up the 
candle. Such an old man as they saAv on the 
doorstep, his head bent low. Suddenly, he 
twisted his face round, looked up at the two 
Avomen in the doorAvay and smiled. 

“ You — ^you — scamp ! ” exclaimed Faith. 

“ Tom Parker ! ” said the astonished grand- 
parent. “ Come in, this minute, you bad boy ! 
What are you up to ? ” 


130 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

‘‘Up to getting home. Let me in, and I will 
tell everything. I want to kiss you first, grand- 
mother.” 

When he had reached the kitchen, away went 
wig and beard and oaken stick, and the original 
Tom stood up, tall, straight, muscular, his eyes 
sparkling. 

His grandmother and Faith noticed that it was 
a new Tom that was speaking. 

“ Tom, you are all worked up.” 

“ Am I, grandmother ? Do you know what I 
came home for ? Wait a moment ! ” 

He ran upstairs. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” sighed his grandmother. 

Faith made no moan. She only grew pale. 

Soon they heard the notes of a fife, and such a 
quick lively air! It was Tom playing Yankee 
Doodle. 

“ Is the boy crazy ? ” asked his grandmother. 
“ The regulars will hear him and then ” 

The words were hardly out of her mouth when 
a noise without was heard. The fifing ceased. 

Faith ran to the window, looked out into 
Salem Street, and saw two shadowy forms. 
They were halting, but very soon passed on. 

Tom in the meantime had come downstairs. 

“ Oh, Tom I ” cried his grandmother. 

“ Oh, Tom ! ” said Faith, speaking very ear- 
nestly now. “ Oh, Tom 1 I thought the regulars 


THE AGED PILGRIM. 


131 


were after you, for I could just now make out 
two men on the sidewalk.” 

“ I looked out of the window, too. Faith,” said 
Tom. “ They could not have been British sol- 
diers, or they — they would have come in through 
the window at once. Good and true men. No 
trouble there ! ” 

Here Tom began to play again, but very softly. 
“ Tom, Tom ! ” said his grandmother. ‘‘ Had you 
better ? ” 

Faith was so absorbed in watching Tom’s 
countenance that she made no comment. 

What a change in Tom ! His eyes flashed. 
His head was thrown back. His very attitude 
expressed resoluteness and defiance. He stopped 
playing. 

“Do you know, grandmother and Faith, do 
you know what I came home for ? To get this, 
and to say I want to ” 

Tom did not speak the word. Faith did not 
say it. Grandmother did not say it. The women 
knew as well as Tom what that word was which 
had been left unsaid. It meant the discomforts 
of camp, long marches, hard fighting, sickness, 
death it might be. Each one saw the word as 
if written in sharp light across the black fire- 
place, — “ ENLIST.” 

Grandmother laid her hand upon her heart 
and sighed. Faith owned a hand, even two 


132 


FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


hands, but she held them in her lap as if they 
were of stone. She could not even sigh. She 
seemed paralyzed. She wished she could, like 
grandmother, demonstrate something. 

Tom was the first to speak. “Well, Faith, 
grandmother, I have thought it all over, and I 
wanted to let you know — for I ought to tell you 
and grandfather — and there is no other way than 
— to go into the army. Every one must do 
something for his country if he can, and I can 
fife, and I want to be a fifer. I — I — wanted to 

ask grandfather but ” 

“ He is abed and fast asleep,” said the grand- 
mother. “ Can’t you stay till morning ? ” 

“ I must be off to-night.” 

Grandmother sighed again. Faith had another 
attack of paralysis of her vocal organs. 

“ Your grandfather has said you ought to en- 
list,” remarked grandmother. 

She did not add that he had doubted whether 
Tom had “ sperrit ” enough to be a soldier. 

“ Must you go to-night, Tom ? ” 

“ I promised to meet Cy Tucker in Cambridge 
some time before midnight. He enlists with me. 
You know he is a relative. Then I think I was 
suspected on my way here. If they should find 
a young man under the old man’s dress, and see 
my fife, too, and I should not make everything 
satisfactory, wouldn’t they arrest me ? lam good 


THE AGED PILGRIM. 


133 


as a soldier now — in my feelings There, 

grandmother, don’t — don’t take it hard! Don’t 
feel bad 1 ” 

He had not appealed to Faith. To herself, she 
did not seem to have any feeling. She had died 
some time ago. She was in a coffin. She was 
buried. 

“ Cheer up, grandmother ! You know the sol- 
diers will be paid, though I don’t go for that, but 
we shall be paid, and I will get my money to 
you ” 

“ Keep every penny, my boy.” 

“ Then I can come home in some kind of a dis- 
guise ” 

“ That will be risky.” 

“Well, you and grandfather, and Faith and 
her grandmother can come to Watertown. Peo- 
ple are leaving this town ” 

“I respect your grandfather’s position. He 
says he cannot go to live on other people. He 
is a proud man, and that is a good pride.” 

Faith wanted to say something for “ Faith 
and her grandmother,” but she seemed to have 
lost her tongue altogether. She was still 
buried. 

“Cheer up, grandmother! We are going to 
pen the British up here, and then drive them out 
into the Atlantic somehow, and though it may 
take some time, we will do it.” 


134 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


And we will stay here till you fife the enemy 
out of Boston.” 

Tom seized his fife. His grandmother checked 
him, or he would have played Yankee Doodle 
again. 

Where did this new Tom come from, so spir- 
ited, handsome (Faith thought), a strange, fas- 
cinating enthusiasm lighting up his eyes, his voice 
trembling at times as he spoke in his fervor ? 

He noticed that the others did not seem to 
kindle with a like interest. 

“ But you don’t seem to — to — want me much 
to enlist. Why, grandmother, the country is all 
up in arms, and we are to have an army, and the 
fighting beginning at Lexington and Concord 
will go on ” 

“ Oh, I know that. Have you had anything to 
eat?” 

‘‘ Oh, I can’t stop for that, and besides, I took 
a nibble in my pocket. But you — you don’t seem 
to talk out — and be real earnest and — say, • Go, 
Tom, into the army,’ and — and ” 

Grandmother leaned forward from her arm- 
chair, rose up, laid her hand on Tom’s arm, and 
said in low, but distinct tones : 

“ Thomas, I saw Lord Percy’s men when they 
came back from Lexington. I saw the wounded 
brought home. 1 saw the bodies of the dead 
borne along. I said, ‘It might have been our 


aged PlLQElM. 


135 


boys.’ My heart ached. Thomas, I believe ours 
is a just cause. I believe, too, that we are fight- 
ing for the rights of Englishmen as well as Amer- 
icans. It is the government that is against us, 
rather than the people, and if we had on the 
throne a king who did not sometimes have his 
spells of not being just right in his mind, I think 
the government might be different. However, it 
is decided ; the war has begun. And we all must 
feel it. The men go to the war, but oh, those 
who stay at home, the poor women, may suffer 
more. We can’t get about as the men will. We 
never forget you, never, never, and live and pray 
and toil for you and suffer — but — I must not talk 
on. I think your call has come, Thomas. I 
have felt that something would come, a voice, 
and it would call you out to some high and noble 
work and ” 

She lifted her hands. Like a prophetess of 
olden time, she solemnly said, “The Lord bless 
thee and keep thee ! The Lord make his face to 
shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee ! The 
Lord lift up his countenance upon thee and give 
thee peace.” 

Then she sank back in her chair and covered 
her face with her hands. 

“ Ho, no, this must not be ! ” she said, and the 
light of a soft sunshine was in her eyes as she 
kissed Tom farewell. 


136 FIFER-BOY OF fSE BOSToM SIEGE. 

Tom was in tears when he kissed his grand- 
mother. “ I did not think parting would be so 
hard,” he told himself. 

He slipped quietly out of the house, his fife in 
his pocket. 

Faith had not wept, and she did not kiss him, 
but she followed him. 

“ Are you going. Faith ? ” 

She too asked a question. “ How are you go- 
ing to Watertown, Tom?” 

“ I thought of getting across to Charlestown — 
somehow — I can find some one who will row me 
over.” 

“ You stay here by the church till I go home, 
and if my grandmother is asleep, I will go to the 
wharf with you. Wait just two or three 
minutes.” 

Tom waited in the shadow of the Old Horth 
Church. He soon heard Faith’s light, quick step. 

“ Yes, she is asleep, Tom, and as she is a heavy 
sleeper, I can be away a while longer. How, I 
will go with you.” 

‘‘ I will pick up somebody who can row me 
across, and if don’t find anybody in the street, I 
know a house where I can get help, Faith.” 

Ho helper was found on the way to Grand- 
father Parker’s boat, which Faith wished Tom to 
pull at once from its old hiding-place. Then 
Faith promptly stepped into the boat. 


ME AG Ed PlLGRiM. 


l3t 

Now push off, Tom, for ” 

“ I will, soon as I get one of the boys up ” 

“ Thomas, I am going to row you across 

“You?’’' 

“Certainly! You are losing time trying to 
hunt up somebody you may never find. You 
won’t meet Cy Tucker in Cambridge. Besides, 
it is dangerous going round the street full of 
soldiers — you might say, — when you have a 
rebel fife in your pocket. Cast off that line, 
soldier in the American army ! ” 

“ Faith, you are crazy 1 ” 

“ I never had a better share of my senses than 
just now. I can row as well as you, and you 
know it. Come, we might have been half across 
by this time.” 

“ Faith, now be sensible, and get out of this 
boat.” 

“ I am going to stay. Touch me if you dare, 
sir ! I will scream ‘ murder ! ’ and bring down 
the whole British navy upon you, and then what 
if they find a rebel fife in your pocket ? Cast off 
that line, Thomas 1 ” 

Tom still hesitated. 

“Now, Tom, you are losing time, and Cy 
Tucker will be in bed when you get to Cam- 
bridge, and you can’t see him if you don’t hurry. 
I have everything ready — there, I brought some 
pieces of thick cloth and twine Avith which to 


138 FiFEk-hoY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

muffle these oarlocks — don’t you see the British 
men-of-war ? ” 

“ Now, Faith ! ” 

‘‘ Now, Thomas ! ” 

Faith insisted; Tom resisted. Faith carried 
the day. They pushed off from the wharf. Tom 
took the oars; Faith manned the paddle. 

“ It makes me think of the time when we went 
to Charlestown, not long ago, this spring. Faith.” 

“ I know it, but we had better not talk. There 
are British men-of-war, you know, off in the 
stream.” 

Softly, they moved, across the river. They 
could dimly see the black hulls of the British 
men-of-war, but the boat made no noise, and it 
was unchallenged. They soon were on the other 
side of the river. 

“ I shall worry about you. Faith. I have been 
very selfish.” 

“No, you haven’t. You couldn’t help your- 
self. You need not worry. When I get back to 
the other side, I will give two calls, and you can 
give one, if you want to.” 

“ That will make me feel better. Faith, I love 
you dearly, and I don’t want to say good-bye.” 

“ Don’t say it, Tom. It won’t be a good-bye 
for me, for I think of you and am with you all 
the time. I love you with all my heart, but O 
Tom, I can’t cry, and I haven’t any benediction 


Me aged pilgrim. 139 

like grandmother, but I am praying for you all 
the time, and when you go into b-battle — b-b-bat- 

tle ’’ Faith’s voice was breaking in spite of 

her alleged hardness. 

“ Kiss me. Faith ” 

She kissed him again and again, and then 
turning, stepped into the boat and pushed off. 
“ Oh, Tom, here is a little something to eat I 
wrapped in a napkin.” Back she came, and hav- 
ing given her package to a grateful fifer, left 
him once more. 

In a little while, he heard, or thought he 
heard, two soft, sweet calls from the Boston side 
of the river. 

“It sounds like a little r-robin,” blubbered 
Tom, wiping his eyes. 

He gave a fierce yell and tramped off through 
Charlestown village to meet Cy Tucker at Cam- 
bridge, On his way, he ate “ the sweetest lunch 
in the world.” 

Faith secured her boat in its hiding-place, 
walked up the stairs leading to the wharf, and 
was suddenly confronted by a dark, tall form. 

“ Now, miss, what have you been up to ? ” 

Faith made no reply, but began to run. 

“ Here, miss, stop ! ” 

She ran the harder. She turned into a pas- 
sageway offering a short route to her grand- 
mother’s door, but her pursuer also knew of a 


140 PIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SlEGF. 

passageway, and when she came up to the door, 
he was there already, and he challenged her : 
“ Now tell me where you have been ? ” 

Making no reply, she pushed by him, opened 
the door, and stepped into a little entry. A 
candle she had left on a stairway, still was burn- 
ing and threw a not very vivid light in the di- 
rection of somebody who wore the uniform of a 
petty officer in the British army. He might 
have been thirty -five years old. He had black 
hair and his e3^es of whatever color were pierc- 
ing. The most marked feature was the nose. It 
was red, and when the officer turned his head, 
one saw that the nose was beaked. Faith had 
heard others call him “ Joseph Chapman.” 

He had asked Tom’s grandfather to do some 
work on a trunk, but that son of liberty refused. 
Seeing Faith in the shop, he had asked her to tell 
him of a seamstress. She could not think of one. 
Then he offered Faith money for her services. 
This she refused. Several times she had met 
him since, and as often she tried to avoid him ; it 
was impossible. He was always respectful. He 
never seemed to be angry because she refused to 
talk with him. Several times he offered fruit. 
He never seemed offended because she always 
declined. He only laughed pleasantly. Behind 
the laugh, behind the eyes which in the light 
were of a sleepy, yellowish grey usually but 


THE AGED PILGRni. 


14l 


when excited very sinister and sharp, like a hun- 
gry wolf’s eyes, behind the hooked nose was a 
devil, so Faith believed. 

“ Look here, miss,” he now said. “ You have 
done a very unwise thing. You rowed a man 
across this river that I think was a spy. When 
you came back, you gave two calls ; he gave one. 
If you are summoned to account for this, you 
may be glad to have a friend in — me.” He 
bowed low and went away. 

Faith closed the door, carefully locked it, took 
the candlestick in her hand, and went upstairs. 

She had represented herself to Tom Parker as 
a very undemonstrative being. Within, to her- 
self, she was as a sea struck by a northeast storm. 
This parting came with war ! 

She went to her dormer window and looked 
over toward Tom’s. It was black. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” she moaned. 

Then like a fresh gust upon the uneasy sea 
within came the memory of Joseph Chapman’s 
words. 

She shook her head. It meant trouble. The 
Americans were going to pen the British in. 
Faith felt that she was penned in already. 
North, south, east, west, rose up Joseph Chap- 
man. 

Hark ! She heard the clock of Christ Church 
sonorously calling off the hour of the night. 


142 PlF^M-BOr OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

That brought Faith out of prison. She took 
up her Bible, opened it to the Psalms, and read 
that verse, “ He that dwelleth in the secret place 
of the Most High shall abide under the shadow 
of the Almighty.” 

That quick susceptibility of her soul to another 
world and a Higher, Heavenly Power, responded 
to this verse. 

‘‘Shall abide,” she said, “shall abide.” 

She made a pillow of the promise. She laid 
her head upon it. “ Under the Shadow,” she 
slept till morning. 


CHAPTEK XII. 

IN THE MEETING-HOUSE. 

Miriam sat in the meeting-house at Water- 
town, and the meeting-house was a place worth 
sitting in. We too will sit there awhile and look 
about us, while we imagine Miriam’s searching 
eyes turned toward us from the gallery. How 
those eyes had searched the heart of a British 
soldier wounded at Lexington ! 

The meeting-house fronted the village-com- 
mon, and this unrolled its carpet of green around 
the doors of the buildings, humbly waiting 
upon it. There were also lowly gravestones of 
blue near the meeting-house. Death paying its 
respectful tribute to Life that here gathered in 
the shadow of the meeting-house spire proudly 
towering above the stones. Some time though, 
the stones of blue would bring down Life and its 
pride to their humble level. The slighted stones 
that said nothing to the activity of the Life in 
the meeting-house, sometimes so ambitious, 
grasping and discordant on town-meeting days, 
could afford to be silent and wait. They would 

143 


144 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


yet have their day, and receive all the attention 
a broken heart can give. 

The meeting-house was a square frame build- 
ing, plain, big enough for the town. This quality 
of size was a thing of greater importance than 
mere looks. The four walls of the building faced 
the four points of the compass, its front side fac- 
ing the south. At the western end of this sugar 
box structure, rose a tower. A belfry capped this, 
and then a spire began to soar, its ambition 
steadily dwindling till a rooster- vane was 
reached, and the rooster proudly faced and stub- 
bornly opposed, while it also yielded to ever}'^ 
wind that blew. It never crowed a note, this 
ambitious bird, though the reddest kind of a 
morning light saluted it, but this steadfast si- 
lence brought it praise from all bed-loving peo- 
ple. There were three entrances to the meeting- 
house. That in the eastern wall was protected 
by a porch, and up this porch twisted a stairway 
to the gallery. In the southern wall was the main 
entrance conducting to “ the middle aisle.” On 
the western side was the tower that had also its 
stairway to the gallery. It was a handy en- 
trance for the bell ringer, and for people that 
came from “ over the hill,” and “ singers ” could 
slip in this way as well as up the stairs in the 
eastern porch. 

By the tower door, Miriam came into the 


IN THE 3IEETING HOUSE. 


145 


meeting-house, and we will follow her up into 
the singers’ gallery. This was on the southern 
side. Galleries also rimmed the eastern and 
western walls. Directly opposite the singers’ 
gallery, was the pulpit, and this was advisable, 
for from time immemorial, choirs have shown 
an irreverent uneasiness that needs to be 
under or opposite the parson’s eye. There was 
no gallery on the pulpit side. The meeting- 
house must have no such interfering attraction to 
take off the attention from that great, imposing 
object, the pulpit. If in churches that follow a 
ritual, the altar is the prominent object, in an old 
Puritan meeting-house there was a piece of 
ritualism just as pronounced, and this was the 
pulpit. Even angels would not have ventured to 
tread there, unless authorized by the minister. 
Up to the tall, dignified, imposing pulpit, re- 
spectfully climbed a flight of steps, while above 
this oracle was a ponderous sounding board. 
Before the pulpit, at its base, was the “ deacons’ 
seat.” 

As one stood in the singers’ gallery and looked 
down into the meeting-house, he saw three aisles 
stretching across the floor and aiming at the 
pulpit wall, though not arriving there. The 
main aisle ” was the one in the centre, and on 
either side were square, old-fashioned pews 
that suggested large families. There were two 


146 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

side aisles that went between pews of the same 
fashion. Two slender aisles, though, divided 
the mass of pews between the main and side 
aisles, these humbler avenues carrying the name 
of “cat aisles.” We are not told the reason for 
the giving of this name. Because these aisles 
were not so wide as the others, was their narrow- 
ness in keeping with a cat’s necessities which ask 
for less room in traveling ? Therefore were 
they called cat aisles, or did they recognize the 
perverse inclination of cats to disturb worship, 
stealing slyly into the meeting-house, their black- 
green eyes watching everything, their whiskers 
stiff set ? In the latter case, it might have been 
thought that these narrower aisles would attract 
the stealthily stalking visitors, and give the 
tithingman a better chance to capture him. 

Of course, the meeting-house was for the whole 
town. The town chose the minister, who was 
always of the old “ standing order” in New Eng- 
land, the Congregational. His salary was paid 
out of the town treasury. He was a town, as 
well as a church official. And the people as a 
rule came to hear him. It was heresy to go or 
want to go anywhere else than to “ the meeting- 
house,” supposing there were a disposition to go to 
the services of the Church of England in Boston. 
“ Meetin’-goin’,” in every town was a prevalent 
custom. People “ went to meetin’,” even as they 


IN THE MEETING-HOUSE, 


147 


ate, drank and slept. If they could not answer 
affirmatively the question whether they had 
“ben to meetinV’ at one period of the town’s 
history certainly they might expect to see the 
selectmen coming after them. These town fa- 
thers were also supposed at one time to see that 
the children were religiously trained, and if not 
sufficiently catechised, then the selectmen must 
catechise the children. 

At the time of this chapter’s events, the town 
was without a minister, and who officiated this 
Lord’s Day in the old meeting-house, I cannot 
say. Miriam was in the gallery. People were 
coming into the meeting-house in little groups, 
seeking the big, square pews, like flocks coming 
each to its separate fold. The old sheep went 
ahead, the fathers and mothers, and the lambs 
followed. “ Boys ” though, an uneasy item al- 
ways, might steal up into the gallery. In the 
old town records of Watertown, the selectmen 
of one generation at least used to take turns 
in sitting with those uneasy mortals up in the 
gallery. 

It was a cold, rainy day. The wind was from 
the northeast, a harsh breathing from the sea not 
many miles away. The long lines of rain came 
charging across “ Meeting-house Hill,” then clat- 
tering against the windowpanes of the meeting- 
housq. The bell ringer in the tower had pulled 


148 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

the bell rope with vigor, and the notes had gone 
out lively and strong as if to say, “ Not so bad — 
so bad — the weather — the weather — come out — 
come out ” 

The weather, though, was rather bad. The 
wind scolded. It shook the windows as if it 
wanted either to get in, or else get the windows 
out. 

Miriam heard the spiteful gusts die down to oc- 
casional sighs as if in penitence. Looking down 
through one of the windows, she thought she saw 
an old “ altar stone ” trying to protect, as well as 
it could, a grave that was under its pitying wing. 
Then she glanced about the meeting-house. She 
saw the pulpit, and she saw the pews. Ah, there 
was the tithingman ! This was an important 
personage in the old-time ecclesiastical life. He 
was expected to enforce regard for the Sabbath, 
to insist upon good order in church. His sign of 
office was a long rod. He looked after the boys, 
the girls also, and he had an ej^e out for those who 
had shut theirs and gone to sleep, whether young 
or old. At one end of his long rod was a firm, 
stout knob. This might be suddenly run among 
naughty boys, or tap the pate of any wicked, mas- 
culine sleeper. For the softer sex, the rod had 
its soft end, where might dangle a fox’s tail, or 
the rod ended in a hare’s foot. Any female, 
shamefully sleeping, would hear from the fox or 


IN TEE MEETING-HOUSE. 


149 


the hare, opening her eyes to see the horror dang- 
ling before the very nose. 

Services had begun in the meeting-house that 
Sabbath. Nothing eventful had happened among 
the singers in the gallery, or down in the congre- 
gation, or in the pulpit. There had been the 
voice of prayer in the pulpit, and the voice of 
praise in the choir. The sermon was entered 
upon. It promised to be a lengthy one. There 
is always a soothing, soporific monotone, for 
some natures, in the sound of a storm, in the 
steady, prolonged cry of the wind, in the stead- 
fast pattering of the rain. If the sound come 
through the walls of a structure protecting us, 
there is a sense of security accompanying the 
muffled tones of wind and rain. We are com- 
forted. We are lulled. It is not surprising if 
we forget the storm and sleep. 

And the tithingman, that stormy, drowzy Sab- 
bath, saw somebody asleep in the meeting-house ! 
Miriam noticed the sleeper. She saw, too, the 
tithingman’s rod, reached toward the head of an 
offender, rising and falling like the boughs of a 
willow in the wind. The head belonged to Joab 
Amsden. While his eyes were shut, his mouth 
was open. The tithingman’s rod — would he aim 
it at that open mouth ? 

Miriam began to smile. The tithingman ap- 
preciated his opportunity. No player in a bowl- 


150 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


ing alley, rolling a ball at a ninepin, could have 
shot more skilfully at his mark than did the tith- 
ingman, for the ball at the end of the tithing- 
man’s rod went exactly into that gaping mouth ! 

Miriam now was laughing. Joab jerked his 
mouth away when he felt that strange, hard mis- 
sile, and angrily glared about him. He saw, as 
it seemed to him, a number beyond count all star- 
ing and smiling, while as he raised his eyes to es- 
cape the criticism of the congregation, he saw in 
the singers’ gallery a face distorted with mirth, 
the face of the prettiest girl in the meeting-house, 
and all her ridicule was at his expense! Aware 
that Joab was looking madly at her, she covered 
her face with a psalm book. Joab dropped his 
eyes, and at the plain, pine floor directed them 
intently, as if with these he would bore a hole of 
escape through the boards. 

Culprit, was he ? An object of discipline at 
the hands of the tithingman? Any sense of 
faultiness or mortification was burnt away before 
a hot flame of wrath to think the prettiest girl in 
the meeting-house, one that he cared for, one that 
he had dared to love, should have been laughing 
at him thus publicly. 

“ I’ll see her after meetin’,” he resolved. “ I’ve 
been wantin’ to see her, the jade! I might as 
well bring things to a close one way or the other.” 

The sermon was concluded. The service was 


M TH^ MEmiNG-HOUS£:. 15i 

ended. Miriam was walking away from the 
meeting-house. She heard steps behind her. 

“ It is a step of somebody that wants to see 
me, and I don’t know whether I want to see 
them or not,” thought Miriam. She walked 
faster. 

“ It is somebody gaining on me, and whose 
step is it? Somebody I know, the step of ” 

Before she could say, “ Joab Amsden,” he was 
exclaiming, “ Stop, Miriam ! ” 

“Then he orders me,” thought Miriam. “No, 
sir ! I can’t,” she said. 

“ You get me out of breath,” he said. 

“That is a fine speech to the praise of my 
walking.” 

“ It seems to me you are doing it all the time, 
trying to get away from me.” 

This was a fact. She did not deny it. 

“Miriam, I want to mention important busi- 
ness. You promised — to give an answer ” 

“Not on the Sabbath day.” 

“ The Sabbath is none too good for an answer, 
Miriam.” 

“Are you not going to stop at the meeting- 
house ? ” she asked. 

“No more than you.” 

The old-time Sabbath practice was that of two 
services and a brief noon intermission. While 
families living near by could go home, those from 


152 FIFER-BOr OF THE BOSTON SIEGF. 

a distance would haunt the meeting-house, linger 
on the doorstep, or, if woods were near, they 
could in summer seek their comforting shade. 
Sometimes a town would have a ‘‘ Sabba day 
house.” This was a humble structure, carrying 
at one end a rough chimney of stone. Sometimes 
at the other end would be stabled the horses, and 
the combination of man and beast under the same 
roof could not have been wholly agreeable. Im- 
agine the “Sabba day house” in the winter. 
A jolly fire has been kindled in the fireplace, a 
fire of snapping pine, or of maple, with its clear, 
whitish flame, or of oak that leaves behind such 
strong, ruddy coals. Around the crackling, leap- 
ing flames would gather the worshippers, chilled 
in the meeting-house that knew no heat unless 
coals had been brought in foot stoves for the 
women. A lunch would be dispatched, to which 
the noon gossip would give additional flavor. 
Then as the meeting hour approached, the good 
wives could with the hot, red coals on the hearth, 
replenish their foot stoves. All would soon glide 
away, leaving the fire to sputter and sink and 
die, while up through the frosty air of the meet- 
ing-house again would rise the breath that took 
heavenward on its wings a burden of supplica- 
tion or strain of song. Cold might be the meet- 
ing-house, but how many hearts were warmed by 
the fervor of the ascending worship ! 


M TMH Meeting-Mouse. 


1^3 


Joab Amsclen did not care whether he re- 
mained or not to the afternoon service, but he 
did care to see Miriam Spring, and he hurried off 
to overtake her. She had left, because seeing 
him present, she thought he might annoy her in 
the very way he was now following. 

“ Shall we leave the road and take the walk 
across the fields ? ’’ he asked. 

She shook her head. 

How charming she looked ! How fascinating 
was Miriam’s face in the meeting-house ! It is a 
singular interest a face may have for one, when 
the play of every feature is at his expense. Mir- 
iam’s eyes were none the less magnets because 
J oab’s mishap stirred up their sparkling depths. 
She now nodded toward the village road pictur- 
esquely winding down to the dusty mill, and the 
water dreamily pouring over the dam. 

Joab bit his lips when he noticed Miriam’s re- 
ply. He shrugged his shoulders. He shot light- 
ning out of his black eyes. 

There was a clump of trees to be seen from 
the proposed path across the fields, and there in 
the shadow Joab had planned a conference. This 
plan was now to be abandoned. 

‘‘ Well,” he said, “ it may be as well here as 
there. Have you thought of my proposition ? ” 

“ To be your wife ? ” 

He nodded assent. 


i54 PIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

“I can tell you here, Joab. Consider me al- 
ways as one who wishes you well, but whoever 
becomes your wife, should give her heart with her 
hand, and I cannot do it. Marriage is too sacred 
for the gift of the hand without the heart.” 

Again he bit his lip, and the blood stained it. 

“ I thought as much,” he said. “ I suppose that 
British soldier you are nursin’ — I think he is a 
spy — will have your hand ” 

“ A spy ? That is false.” 

‘‘ Oh, I don’t know about that.” 

“ I do ; he is not a spy. Our cause has his 
sympathy.” 

Joab laughed mockingly. 

“ I think he is to be trusted,” affirmed Miriam. 

“ Look out ! ” he said in a warning tone. You 
mean all you say ? ” 

“ I mean all I say.” 

He halted. A group of minutemen approached 
Joab. One of them, he knew. 

Miriam saw her opportunity, murmured, 
“ Good-bye,” and glided away. 

On the side of Joab’s face turned toward Mir- 
iam, a frown left its dark shadow. At the same 
time that he was frowning on Miriam, he was 
trying to smile on the soldiers. 

He muttered as he saw her tripping off, “ The 
minx ! She shall suffer for this — her spv lover, 
too ! ” 


CHAPTEE XIII. 


WHICH HILL THE ALTAR OF LIBERTY ? 

After the collision at Lexington and Concord, 
the New England militia at once began to rally, 
and an array of threatening size was gathered 
about Boston. General Artemus Ward took com- 
mand of all the troops. His headquarters were 
at Cambridge. The left of the army swept 
round through Chelsea, Charlestown and Medford, 
and General Israel Putnam, the Connecticut hero, 
commanded. The right of the army stretched 
round into Roxbury and Jamaica Plain, and here 
General John Thomas was in command. 

On the line of this semicircle of war, west of 
Cambridge, was Watertown, a place of great im- 
portance because here met the Provincial Con- 
gress in the old meeting-house on Watertown 
Common. The council met in a dwelling near 
by, that has been known as the Fowler House. 
In that army reaching out from Cambridge and 
winding round Boston on its land side two stub- 
born arms, was a force of over seven thousand 
men. They were variously quartered. Some 
were in tents, others were in private houses, 

155 


156 FIFEU-Bor OF TUB BOSTOM SIFgE. 

while the college buildings at Cambridge were 
used as barracks. 

Thus was begun the siege of the British in 
Boston. In shutting up an enemy, an army may 
be so tied down, that it may be monotonously 
held and tediously cramped, as if also in a siege. 
To prevent monotony, to stimulate enthusiasm, oc- 
casional expeditions were made to give a blow to 
British outposts or carry off supplies of hay 
and cattle on islands in Boston Harbor. Of 
these foraging parties, one went to Hod- 
dle’s Island (East Boston), and Hogg Island, 
where cattle and sheep were pastured. There 
was a conflict of arms, and as tvvo British sol- 
diers were killed and there were wounded men 
on both sides, there has been a desire to rank 
this as the second fight for freedom. 

Finally, a very serious expedition was planned. 
The British army in Boston was reinforced, and 
now numbered about ten thousand men. Three 
very able generals came with the new troops, 
Howe, Clinton and Burgoyne. The last general 
soon was wearing the nickname, “ Elbowroom.” 
It originated in a remark Burgoyne made about 
the provincial forces around Boston ; “ What ? 
Ten thousand peasants keep five thousand king’s 
troops shut up ! Let us get in, and we’ll soon 
find elbowroom.”^ This general, sent in pride 

* Memorial of Bunker Hill, p. 6. 


Which hill the altar of liberty? 

from England, and thus talking as he neared Bos- 
ton, was destined to learn that the “ peasants ” 
would give him very little elbowroom by the 
time they had got through with him. 

Influenced by the arrival of reinforcements 
from home. General Gage determined to push 
things. He proclaimed martial law. Before he 
arraigned the Yankees as hopeless offenders at his 
haughty bar, he thought it best to offer pardon 
to rebels and traitors if they would lay down 
their arms, excepting two transgressors from this 
munificent offer, Sam Adams and John Han- 
cock. He meant to make them suffer, provided 
he could catch them. All this information was 
given out on the twelfth of June, and it must 
have provoked a smile on the faces of Adams 
and Hancock. The very next day, a stealthy 
word went to Cambridge, and was whispered to 
its Committee of Safety, that Gage intended to 
take possession of two important hills outside 
of Boston and commanding it, Bunker Hill in 
Charlestown, and the heights in Dorchester, or 
the high land in South Boston of to-day, and this 
includes Thomas Park and the neighborhood. 
The whisper stirred up a great noise. The com- 
mittee thought the matter over, and two days 
later, the fifteenth, declared that the Americans 
would do well to occupy Bunker Hill and fortify 
and hold it. About Dorchester Heights, there 


l58 FIPEB-BOY of the BOStON SIEG^. 

was no decision. The sixteenth of June, those 
in command of the Americans proceeded to an- 
ticipate any British movement upon a Charles- 
town hill. 

But there were two hills in the little hamlet of 
Charlestown, Bunker Hill being a hundred and 
ten feet high, and Breed’s sixty-two. The one 
taken for this designed service would be an altar 
top on which freedom would richly pour out its 
blood, and the altar would have in the nation’s 
gratitude a height so great that it would seem to 
touch the sky. Which hill would be that altar ? 


CHAPTER XIY. 


THE NIGHT MARCH TO CHARLESTOWN. 

The evening of the sixteenth of June, a body 
of soldiers met on Cambridge Common. They 
were mostly from Massachusetts regiments under 
Colonels Frye, Bridge and Prescott. Of this 
body. Colonel Prescott was given the command. 
Massachusetts furnished about nine hundred of 
these heroes, and Connecticut added two hun- 
dred. Two field pieces and an artillery company 
of forty-nine men went with the detachment. 
This was the size of the band marching to renown. 
Some of these wore a plain uniform. Others 
had only the garments woven from the yarn that 
once was the wool of the flock behind the barn 
at home. Colonel Prescott sported a linen blouse 
under his three-cornered hat. Their guns never 
came from the same factory, and while one man 
might have a cartridge box, his neighbor might 
carry the old powderhorn or pouch that had sup- 
plied his fowling piece when out in the marshes 
shooting wild duck, the autumn before. 

Cambridge Common, where the soldiers met, 
is close by Harvard College, and the college was 

159 


160 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


as loyal as the Common. Ere starting out that 
night, the soldiers were remembered in prayer 
by President Langdon. Fervently did he look 
to God for the men, some of whom were about 
marching to glory and death also. At nine, they 
all moved off, two sergeants with dark lanterns 
heading the column. Their rations for a single 
day showed that long service was not anticipated, 
but picks and shovels that went along hinted that 
it might be twenty-four hours of hard work. Tom 
Parker was there, though not fifing. He went 
to lend a muscular hand wherever needed. Cy 
Tucker, whom Tom had found at Cambridge the 
night he left Boston, was near him, lugging an 
old flintlock he had found up in his mother’s 
garret. 

All the column was off. It was tramp, tramp, 
tramp. Liberty was on the march, plodding in 
silence through the shadows, bound for an altar 
hill. 

Three miles from Cambridge to the Charles- 
town hills did not make a lengthy march for the 
farmers and their compatriots, and they halted 
on Bunker Hill, as the Committee of Safety had 
proposed. Prescott, though, had received orders 
to go to Breed’s Hill. It was on an elevation 
nearer to Boston, and thought to be more avail- 
able for fighting. Which hill would make lib- 
erty’s altar ? 


THE NIGHT 31 ARCH TO CHARLESTOWN. 161 

A choice was made by the officers. The two 
lanterns twinkling ahead moved on to Breed’s 
Hill, and the column followed. Here Colonel 
Gridley, chief engineer, marked out a redoubt 
about eight rods square. That would give about 
a hundred and thirty feet to a side. 

Tom and Cy held close to one another. “ How 
still it is ! ” said Tom, looking off toward Boston’s 
few twinkling lights. 

“ Still as the top of our haymow to hum in a 
snowstorm,” replied Cy. 

In the Charles Kiver were objects that could 
make a noise, the English fleet. There were other 
British helps. Copp’s Hill, near Christ Church, 
had a crown of gravestones. One was in memory 
of Captain Daniel Malcolm, dying in 1769. It 
was mentioned on his stone that he was a “ True 
Son of Liberty.” That compliment drew fire, 
for the British soldiers made it a target, and the 
old chipped blue stone tells to-day the story of 
the bullets that went that way. On this same 
Copp’s Hill, there was a battery of British can- 
non waiting to roar away. 

It was a still night of the summer. Colonel 
Prescott, down on the Charlestown shore where 
a small guard was posted, could hear the impress- 
ive cry of the enemy’s sentry, echoing over the 
waters of the Charles, “ All’s well I ” 


CHAPTER XY. 


THE WORK OF THE ANTS. 

It was near midnight, when the American 
spades were thrust into Breed’s Hill, and Tom 
and Cy dug as faithfully as any in the little 
army. It was an old field thus disturbed by 
these human ants. Thick was the sod, matted 
with the growth of years. 

The picks rising and falling, thumped away 
steadily. The spades as they sank in the brown 
loam, also did faithful work. By the light of the 
lanterns it could be seen that the turf and mold 
of the pasture were quickly turning to earth- 
works. Hundreds of patriots were busy as muscle, 
and a good muscle, could make them up there on 
that shadowy hilltop. And all the time, that 
stupid sentry cry of the British came echoing out 
upon the river, “ All’s well ! ” 

The night slowl}^ wore away. “ How ye gittin’ 
along ? ” Cy would say as he gave the earth a 
heavy blow with his pick. 

“First-rate!” would be Tom’s answer, thrust- 
ing deep his spade into the earth. 

Again Cy would speak ; “ Mos’ give out ? ” 

m 


THE WORK OF THE ANTS. 163 

“Never, Cy!” and into Breed’s Hill again 
would sink Tom’s spade. 

Patiently, until the morning star hung its lan- 
tern of alabaster above the glassy waters of the 
harbor, did those ants on the hill toil away. It 
was a mound of earth rising higher as they went 
deeper, and so Liberty’s altar of a hilltop was 
coming into shape for its crimson sacrifice. 

It was from the deck of the British war vessel, 
the Lively, that a suspicious change was noticed 
in the surface of a Charlestown hill. It was a 
guard of the marines that made the discovery. 
What had happened up there? Ants, ants, at 
work? Were they rebel ants? Were they pil- 
ing up — look, look — any earthworks ? 

It was a startling discovery made that on that 
hill were earthworks, and this menace frowned 
on the safety of that British army beyond the 
water, and on the fleet in the water ! 

There was a commotion on board the Lively, 
suited to the vessel’s name. Those rebel bur- 
rowers and builders must stop. In a very few 
minutes the still morning air was heaving as if 
an earthquake were driving its terrible plow 
across Charles Eiver. An angry roar came 
Charlestown-way, and a ball followed the roar. 

“ Stop-p-p ! ” every discharge said, and when it 
spoke, it thundered. 

“ Look, Tom,” cried Cy, “ and look out ! Your 


164 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

head may be knocked off, and with no more care 
than a ball off a post.” 

“ Hur — rah ! ” shouted the post, and its head 
stayed on. 

Notwithstanding the objections of the Lively, 
the order was passed along the American line 
to work away, and the American redoubt was 
steadily strengthened. Its front wall overlooked 
Charlestown village, that long had been nestling 
there as if in conscious security, but it was fated 
to be roughly shocked out of it that day. Inside 
the redoubt wooden platforms were built where 
the Americans could stand and fire their guns. 
From base to summit of the redoubt was about 
six feet. From a point near the northeast corner 
a breastwork was extended toward Mystic Kiver 
for about three hundred feet. A little cannon 
was planted at one corner of the works, but the 
ineffective pigmy was discharged only a few times. 

The boom of the ship’s guns aroused the atten- 
tion of people everywhere. They left their work. 
They sought an outlook. From the highest part 
of their homes, from church belfries, from hill- 
tops, they watched and they waited. The Brit- 
ish firing became general, and the black dogs on 
Copp’s Hill barked away. 

“ It’s a hot day, Cy ! ” said Tom, wiping the 
perspiration from his forehead. 

“ It’s a goin’ to be hotter, Thomas.” The ants 


THE WORK OF THE ANTS. 


165 


went to work again. Every moment was pre- 
cious. For a clock-tick there was no market 
price. It was beyond valuation. 

On the Boston side of the water General Gage 
and one Willard, the brother-in-law of Colonel 
Prescott, were watching through a telescope the 
hurrying ants on Breed’s Hill. Willard detected 
somebody coolly walking on the redoubt, even 
Prescott, and he called Gage’s attention to him. 
“Will he fight?” asked Gage. “To the last 
drop of his blood,” said Willard. 

This could be affirmed of many. One of the 
many, while above the many, was Joseph War- 
ren. He had very recently been made a major- 
general, and the British nicknamed him, on ac- 
count of his profession, “doctor general.” He 
had been at Watertown, had presided as speaker 
over the Provincial Congress, had in the night been 
at different houses in the patriotic village remem- 
bered to-day with interest, and early in the morn- 
ing his horse’s hoofs were beating out a quick, ring- 
ing tune as he sprang away toward Cambridge. 
Musket in hand, he appeared among the minute- 
men, and waited at the earthworks for — Death. 

Another brave veteran, coming to Charlestown 
in the night, was General Israel Putnam, better 
known in history as “ Old Put.” So the heroes 
gathered, some to meet — Death. The forenoon 
sun did not lose in strength. The men on the 


166 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

hill oppressively felt the heat. Water was ob- 
tained with difficulty. Tom and Cy shook their 
heads at one another, and passed to and fro the 
one word^ “ Hot, Hot-t-t ! 

And the British? They were getting ready. 
They had not forgotten a hill over in Charles- 
town. Soon after twelve, barges pushed olf from 
Long Wharf, and clusters of scarlet were seen 
upon the blue water, like big bunches of fiery 
lilies blooming there. The British were going to 
Charlestown ! They soon were massed on Moul- 
ton’s Point, Charlestown. Hunt up the north- 
erly end of the ropewalk at the navy yard, and 
you have the locality. From the so-called north 
battery in Boston, now known as Battery Wharf, 
other big bunches of fiery lilies were brought across 
the blue water. 

General W illiam Howe was in command of the 
entire force of about two thousand men, and it 
was stubborn work that had been planned, for 
each soldier brought three days’ rations. Two 
thousand ? Hot enough, thought Howe, looking up 
at that hill, bristling with farmers’ fowling pieces. 
Near the western boundaries of to-day’s navy yard 
about a thousand more men in scarlet were landed. 
For these was planned a straight march upon the 
work of those saucy ants. All this while the 
June sun was flashing down its gridiron heat. 

‘‘ It is going to be hotter, Cy,” remarked Tom. 


CHAPTER XYl. 


A WAVE OF DEATH. 

“ Here they come ! ” cried Tom. 

“ I’m ready ! ” replied Cy, gritting his white 
teeth and gripping his ancient musket. 

The British grenadiers were moving at the left 
and the right also. They advanced in regular 
lines and bore glistening guns. It was a red 
wave of death rolling up the hill. General 
Pigot commanded the left wing ; the right was 
under General Howe. 

It had been seen that the latter wing might 
get in between the American line and the 
Mystic River, on the side of Charlestown oppo- 
site the Charles River, press to the rear of the 
Americans and fatally flank them. Troops had 
been sent out to that exposed neighborhood, men 
from Connecticut, and when New Hampshire 
troops under Colonel Stark and Colonel Reed 
came up, they went to the left of the line (can 
you not see them hurrying ? Brave fellows ! 
Hats off to them, and the men from Connecticut, 
too ! ). This left wing was helped by a low wall 
of stone, along whose top ran a rail fence. There 

167 


168 


FIFER-BOy OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

were other fences that were taxed to furnish 
material for a second barrier parallel with the 
wall of stone. The June mowers, little thinking 
what they were cutting grass for, had recently 
swept through the green blades with their sharp 
scythes. Between the newly-constructed barrier 
and the old wall of stone, the June hay was 
stuffed. It would make a good shield against the 
British fire. When Stark came, the New Hamp- 
shire hero, whose brows were destined to wear a 
wreath of perennial green, he continued a breast- 
work away to the rivmr’s rim, his men stuffing 
grass between fence rails or piling up stones 
from the near walls. 

Ready ! 

On it came, that daring British line. The 
sweep of this wave though was hindered on the 
left. From the homes of Charlestown, they 
claimed to have been fired on, and the British 
resolved to burn the houses that opposed them. 
The battery on Copp’s Hill began to pitch com- 
bustibles packed in a case and called ‘‘ a carcass.” 
Falling short of the mark, another carcass was 
sent, proving to be anything but a dead body, 
for a demon’s wrath could not have been hotter 
and more energetic. A bonfire followed, while 
a band of vandals from “ The Somerset ” set fire 
to other houses. 

Look-er thar ! ” cried Cy, up on the hill be- 


A \vaV^ oP dPaTh, 


163 


Kind the earthworks. “ They’re burnin’ Charles- 
town. It’s gittin’ to be serous.” 

“Yes,” said Tom, nodding in an absent-minded 
way, “very.” 

He was thinking of his chances for getting 
whole out of this coming storm. How differ- 
ent his situation was from that of the day when 
he and Faith sat down so unconcerned on this 
very hill ! He had often wondered during the 
night where, that spot was, and since dawn he 
had tried to locate it, but in vain. Possibly it 
was the very place he now occupied, and he so 
careless then — he — was — about to be — shot just 
there ! He felt an unusual palpitation of the 
heart. He had heard old French and Indian 
fighters tell in his grandfather’s shop their feel- 
ings when going into battle. And now waiting 
for battle, standing up to be killed, was this very 
same Tom Parker ! 

“ Cy ! ” he whispered, his face whitening. 
“ You — you feel scat ? They’re cornin’, sure.” 

“ Scat ? Sort of skittish, Tom, I must say, but 
I shan’t run. Let ’em come ! ” 

And as he gripped his musket, Cy’s sharp, big 
eyes stared over the crest of the redoubt. 

Many eyes were staring that way. Shore and 
wharf and hilltops and house windows and house- 
top and church belfry were like the ascending 
seats of spectators in a theatre, whose stage was 


i70 . FIFER-BOY OF TEE BOSTON SlEG^. 

over in Charlestown. Even Tom and Cy did not 
seem so much to be participants in a struggle as 
witnesses of it. It was a fascinating scene, the 
approach of the grenadiers. Their manly figures, 
clad in the national uniform, extended in long, 
bright lines, coming on, on, on. The impressive 
accompaniment to their advance was the deep, 
booming bass of the guns on board the warships 
and the iron dogs ashore, while from Charlestown 
came the sound of the hissing flames writhing 
among the fired buildings, as if a multitude of 
snakes were adding their frightful notes to the 
chorus, their dragon leader twisting its way up 
Charlestown’s one church steeple, now all ablaze. 

It had been thought that the smoke, rolling up 
in heavy folds, would cloud and annoy the 
Americans, but the wind shifted, and their lines 
were not enveloped. 

That British wave of assault, scarlet-crested, 
and soon to be blood-tinged, rolled higher. It 
could not come very fast. On the right were 
fences to be clambered over or else crawled 
through, and in some places the uncut June grass 
rose up as if to entangle any intruder. Toward 
the left, Charlestownward, were brick kilns, and 
the land near them was low and marshy and not 
friendly to precise army-lines. Slowly though, 
the wave rolled upward. Tom saw a form 
coming down the line of the American works. 


A tVAVJi: OF DEATH. 


ill 

Cy ! ” he cried. “ There is the colonel ! ” 

“Yes, Prescott, and he’s a brave un. He’s 
a-comin’ our v^ay.” 

Yes, it was Colonel Prescott. “ The red coats 
will never reach the redoubt,” he told his men, 
“ if you will but withhold your fire till I give the 
order, and be careful not to shoot over their 
heads.” 

Tom nervously fingered the fowling piece he 
carried that day. He saw Cy’s hands as nerv- 
ously working up and down his gun. Neither, 
though, fell back an inch. 

Tom again wondered where it was on the hill 
that he and Faith had sat down, that day of their 
visit to Charlestown. Would she come over, 
after the battle, and find Tom dead in the very 
spot, maybe, where they had silently made love 
to one another ? How would he look when she 
found him, a roll of blood-stained hay under his 
head ? He now shivered worse than ever. Upon 
his brow gathered the big beads of a cold per- 
spiration. 

Hark ! Crack — crack — crack ! 

The British troops were firing. Each man 
fired as he held his gun down at his side as if mak- 
ing a bayonet charge. Tom and Cy heard several 
bullets whizzing overhead, and the firing did but 
little execution. If it had not been so hot a day, 
if fences and the grass of June and the marshy 


l72 


PiFEk BOV OP THE BOSfoM SlEoP. 


grounds had not been in their way, if the British 
could have dropped some of their heavy equip- 
ments, the red wave would have rolled higher up 
the hill. Still it was coming, while growling 
cannon and hissing flames kept up their frightful 
accompaniment. 

“ What d-d-did Colonel P-Prescott say ? How 
m-many rods, T-Tom ? ” asked Cy. He stuttered 
nervously. 

“ Oh, I d-don’t know. T-they are d -dreadful 
near, Cy — Cy ! ” Tom stuttered as badly as his 
mate. 

“ I d-don’t b-believe it would — the distance 
from us — m-measure more than — T-Tom. I don’t 
know — b-but ain’t they red ? ” 

» Yes— Cy— Cy ” 

Hearer — nearer — nearer rolled the wave of 
death. “ Hot more t-than — a hundred and thirty 
feet — Cy ” 

“ T-Tom ! I can see their eyes ” 

“ F-fire ! ” rang out Colonel Prescott’s voice, 
and up and down the American line rang out in 
response like a long wave breaking on a beach, 
the order, “ Fire — re — re — re ” 

That stately, scarlet wave sweeping on, on, met 
as it were a rock when across the hill went that 
line of fire-flashes, of smoke, of bullets. The 
British staggered, tried to advance, hesitated, 
reeled, again tried to roll on, but soon with crest 


A WAVE OF DEATB. 


in 

broken and humbled and red-stained, the wave 
yielded and rolled down the hill. 

“Up, Tom, and give it to them!” Cy had 
shouted, the tremor gone. 

The old fowling pieces, defending Englishmen’s 
rights on both sides of the sea, had been fired 
again and again. Over at the British right the 
wave had rolled on. The men that had come 
from humble hamlets and lonely farms, kept back 
their fire, but finally along the grass-stuffed 
barrier went a deadly fiash and it was a light- 
ning line shooting on — on toward the Mystic, and 
before that fire, the men of England went down. 

Here the rock had been met, and the wave 
rolled back in shame, confusion, to the very foot 
of the hill. Some of the British fell back even 
to the boats. 

Would that red wave be massed again and 
come up the hill once more ? Anxiously did the 
spectators in the theatre-seats watch the Charles- 
town hill. Behind the redoubt, behind the rail 
fence stuffed with grass, behind , the barrier of 
stone, the Americans were jubilant. 

“ Tom, Tom,” shouted Cy, “ I want to hug 
you,” and he gave Tom a bear-like squeeze. 

• Tom had begun to cry, “ Hurrah,” but it was 
smothered in Cy’s embrace. Happy patriots 
because triumphant — for a while ! 

In the meantime the British were not idle. 


174 piFer-boY of The boston siege. 

Their officers could not give up the struggle. 
With drawn swords, they went among the men. 
Into line again, they tried to shout and gesticulate 
the retreating masses. A quarter of an hour 
passed, and lo, the line was formed. Uphill once 
more the wave began to roll ! 

“ Here they come ! ” said Cy. 

“ All ready ! ” replied Tom. “ There’s the 
colonel ! ” 

Yes, Prescott was moving from point to point, 
praising, counseling, urging. Nearer and nearer 
came the red wave, pressing stubbornly toward 
the redoubt. When within gun-shot, a musket 
rattle went up and down the British line, the 
smoke giving a dirty crest to that brilliant wave 
of attack. 

“ Don’t fire ! ” advised Cy. 

“ I won’t, Cy ! Hold in, yourself ! ” 

The British now were within eighty or ninety 
feet of the American line, when the command 
“ Fire — re — re ! ” rang out again, and once more it 
was fire — fire — fire ! Once more the wave of 
British valor struck war’s hard iron shore. The 
grenadiers were obstinate. They fired and tried 
to move on. The British officers without fear 
gallantly led. Their men, though, finally wa- 
vered before the repeated vollies of the Ameri- 
cans. When within a few yards of the works, 
the wave spent its force and flowed back. In 


A WAVE OF DEATH. 


175 


vain did the British officers command, threaten 
and even strike their men. A rally was im- 
possible up there. Hard was the opposition, and 
its sign was given in the dead and wounded left 
on the grass. Little did the mowers anticipate 
the sharp sweep of Death’s scythe so soon to be 
swung there. 

At the right of the British line there was an 
attack, but it was no more successful than that 
elsewhere. Here was the same sign of sad fail- 
ure, for Stark said of the British that “ the dead 
lay as thick as sheep in a fold.” Some of the 
companies had but three, four or five survivors. 
General Howe here had command, but every 
staff officer had been killed or wounded, and it 
was said of his dainty stockings of silk that they 
were ‘‘ dyed with the blood of his followers.” He 
courageously tried to stay the retreat, but this 
wave that had broken and was going back blood- 
tinged, could no more be gathered up than a 
spent billow on the seashore. Would another 
come up the hill ? 

‘‘ If we drive them back once more, they cannot 
rally again,” declared Prescott. 

‘‘We are ready for the red coats again,” was 
the patriotic response. There was now a longer 
pause in the battle, the smoke rolling up from 
burning Charlestown as if mercifully to cloud 
the sun pouring down its sharp heat. 


176 


FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


“ What are our officers doing, Cy ? ” asked 
Tom, as he leaned against the redoubt. 

“ They are holdin’ a council, Tom.” 

One item that came before the council was 
peculiarly discouraging; the ammunition was 
almost spent ! A few artillery cartridges were 
found, and the powder in these was distributed. 
The men were told to husband it carefully. 
With this tiny ration, the awful demoniac hunger 
of a great battle was to be met ! 

What next ? after powder, the bayonet ? ISTot 
fifty guns bristled with bayonets. 

What would the British do ? They could look 
up .and see the once green slope strewn with 
their dead or wounded comrades. Was it worth 
while to repeat that slaughter ? It was like the 
British stubbornness of character to make one 
more attempt, just as of British descendants up 
on the hill grimly grasping their flintlocks, it was 
characteristic not to run but wait for the next 
attack. May the two sides never be drawn up to 
fight one another again ! 

a remarked Tom, “ I could not keep my 
eyes off one of the British that last time. He had 
such eyes ! It seemed as if he shot them at me. 
He came pretty close.” 

“ I saw him, Tom. He shot his eyes at me too. 
They looked like a mad cat’s eyes. I wonder if 
he meant me ! He may come again ” 


A WAVE OF DEATH. 


177 


“ Oh look, Cy ! ” 

“ Thomas,” said Cy, solemnly, “ that means the 
toughest time yet.” 

The British were bringing forward their can- 
non, and so planting them that they could rake 
the American breastwork from end to end ! 

“ Tom, I dunno ! If that is their game, look 
out ! ” 

I won’t run.” 

Keinforcements from Boston had arrived for 
the British, and going to the extreme left, moved 
up toward the redoubt from the south. An as- 
sault was directed toward the eastern side, and 
then on the British right came up the fifty-second 
regiment and the straight grenadiers. One 
wave? Three threatening waves were rolling 
up the hill. 

Within the redoubt into which the Americans 
were obliged to crowd, there were not seven hun- 
dred men all told. On three sides the attack was 
rolling up against the Americans. Those most 
plentifully supplied with ammunition had not 
more than three to four rounds, while some 
had iust one. And up the hill was coming — 
Death ! 

Prescott’s order was not to fire until the enemy 
were within a distance of twenty yards, l^earer, 
nearer! Sixty feet, only sixty feet away was 
that formidable threat in long, stout lines, near 


178 


FIFER BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


enough to show faces, eyes, mouths, hands that 
gripped the muskets — 

“ Fire ! ” rang out the word of command. 
It was fire — fire — fire once more. Along the 
American line went a flash — a crack — ck — ck ! 
The wave of death sixty feet away hesitated. 
Gaps had been made in those daring lines. They 
rallied again. No British soldier discharged his 
musket. On — on — they came. 

“ My powder is all gone ! ” shouted Tom. 
“ TheyTe right on us, Cy ! ” 

‘‘ Club ’em with your muskit, Tom ! ” 

The British sprang up the southern wall. Those 
who first gained the crest, were shot away. 
Among those entering the redoubt was Pitcairn, 
the British officer so prominent at Lexington and 
Concord. He fell, cut down by an unerring 
bullet. The British sprang over the redoubt. 
They were met and held at bay awhile, the 
Americans turning their muskets into clubs when 
the powder, coming from one more pitiful artillery 
cartridge, had been exhausted. 

“ Go back, back ! ” shouted Tom. 

Kesistance was in vain. Pushing, urging, if 
falling away in one place only advancing in an- 
other, came this great tide of Britons. Pouring 
over and into the redoubt, it steadily was press- 
ing the Americans out of it. 

Tom hardly knew what he was doing, save 


A WAVE OF DEATH. 


179 


that he was using his musket as a club, striking 
every hostile object that came in his way. 

“ Here comes ‘ Eyes ! he said. 

Yes, a tall form rose up, bearing down on Tom 
and Cy. The eyes were indeed glaring. The 
man seemed like a lighthouse coming on, its lan- 
tern blazing. He made for Tom, and he would 
have ended him, but Tom dodged the assault, and 
let the man sweep by. In him seemed to be 
massed the whole British army, all the grenadiers, 
infantry, battery, marines, so big and furious was 
he, an avalanche of wrath. He seized Cy, and 
they fell heavily to the earth. 

“ You are my prisoner,” shouted the Briton. 

“ I — guess you are mine,” retorted Cy, thrust- 
ing his arms about the enemy, who was trying to 
throttle Cy. 

Tom was like a lion whose cub had been gripped. 
The mysterious “ it ” was coming on. He could 
feel it swelling within him, the mysterious 
strength for which Tom was famous in emergen- 
cies. 

“ I’ve got him, Cy ! ” shouted Tom, fastening 
his grip on the scarlet coat. One pull was 
enough to wrench a hand from the throat of Cy, 
whose face was growing purple. A second pull 
brought the other hand also away from Cy’s 
windpipe, and then threw him aside as a mass of 
unwelcome rubbish. 


180 


FIFEE-BOY OF TEE BOSTON SIEGE. 


“ You are the devil ! ” growled the Briton, and 
then came an eruption of curses from the vol- 
cano of his wrath, but Tom could not stop to 
listen. He was in the midst of a hostile rush 
threatening to sweep him away and Cy also, who 
was slowly getting upon his feet. Together 
they tried to stem the current, but it was useless. 
The Americans without ammunition were mak- 
ing a vain opposition. The breastwork had been 
forsaken. British soldiers were swarming about 
the redoubt while within they were as numerous 
as the Americans who uselessly were trying to 
force them out. The clock had not struck four 
when Prescott ordered his men to retreat. They 
would have been captured, had it not been for 
the men at the rail fence and by the Mystic’s 
shore. Twice they had sent the British back, 
and the third time held them in repulse long 
enough to ensure the retreat of their brethren. 
Then they reluctantly yielded. Putnam had 
been at that end of the American line. 

The address of “ Old Put” to the soldiers with 
him just before the battle, is reported to have 
been this : “ Powder is scarce, my men, and 

must not be wasted. Don’t fire at the enemy till 
you see the whites of their eyes ; then fire low ; 
aim at their waistbands. You are all marksmen, 
and can kill a squirrel at a hundred yards. Ee- 
serve your fire, and the enemy is destroyed. 


A WAFF OF DFATH. 


181 


Aim at the handsome coats. Pick out the com- 
manders.” 

Fruitless had been the low firing and the re- 
served fire. Breed’s Hill was lost. 

When the Americans were going over Bunker 
Hill, they met the old hero, who, anxious to se- 
cure reinforcements, had been absent for that 
reason at the third attack. It was a lost battle 
they reported to him ! It can all be imagined as 
he came up, heated, flushed, impatient. How 
great his chagrin ! 

Gathering into a column any of the fugitives 
that would follow, adding troops that had come 
up too late to see any fighting, he took command 
of these, and down the slopes of Bunker Hill 
regretfully went these June patriots. The plucky 
Prescott, hopeful still, sprang away to head- 
quarters, and made a brave proposition to recover 
the lost ground, could he have three fresh regi- 
ments. No attempt, though, was made to get 
back the hilltop that had been Liberty’s altar. 

The British did not follow up the pursuit of 
the Americans beyond the neck of earth binding 
Charlestown to the region from which the rebels 
had stolen out less than twenty-four hours ago. 

What a tired, faint, regretful flock of fugitives, 
their clothes gray with dust, their hands grimy 
with powder, their faces flushed and sooty, went 
across that isthmus I Putnam led his men to 


182 


FJFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


Prospect Hill, a stout elevation rising within the 
borders of to-day’s Somerville, and looking down 
upon Boston, and there they rested by their 
camp fires — if they had any to kindle. 

They must have had some strange reflections 
that night. Twenty -four hours ago, how differ- 
ent their appearance ! Twenty -four hours ago 
the president of Harvard, having prayed for 
them, they had marched off, proud and elated. 
Did they all come back ? Where was this one, 
that one ? Where was Joseph Warren ? When 
hurrying Charlestownward, some one met him 
and urged him to spare himself. His answer 
was the old motto in Latin, “ Dulce et decorum 
est pro patria mori.” Where was Warren after 
the battle ? 

All over Breed’s Hill were little irregular 
heaps. They stirred not. When the sun set, its 
last rays witnessed no change. Were they arm- 
fuls of hay left by the mowers, harvestings 
stained with blood that flowed after a false scythe 
stroke ? Every heap was a dead man, and 
Warren was one of those heaps. The Americans 
lost in killed and missing one hundred and 
forty-five, while three hundred and four were 
wounded. The killed and wounded on the Brit- 
ish side counted at least one thousand and 
fifty-four, more than one third of the men en- 
gaged. All this was the cost of a battle waged 


A Wav£! of death. 


183 


for the rights of men. In this world, so re- 
luctant to go forward to the doing of the just 
thing, often there is no advance made but it is 
over some stubborn hill strewn with bloody 
heaps. The Americans who resisted with such 
spirit, and the English who as spiritedly forced a 
passage up the hill, left freedom’s offering on the 
hilltop. 

Perhaps some of those who fought up the hill, 
realized what those who fought down the hill, were 
doing. It may have come to the assailants that 
the assaulted were standing up for Englishmen’s 
rights as well as Americans’, and not onl}" for 
humanity in England and America, but all round 
the world. They may have seen this also that 
they who had resisted the invasion of individual 
rights, had done their part so well that their 
ultimate success was only a question of time. 

“We will try it over agin some time, Tom,” 
said Cy, the night of the seventeenth of June. 

“Yes, Cy, and another time we will drive 
them.” 

Then they lay down to a deep sleep. And 
above them the stars came out and softly shone. 
And the same stars came out and held their 
white tapers of peace elsewhere, above the black, 
sputtering piles along Charlestown’s streets, 
above the blood-sprinkled hill where the 
wounded moaned for water, and where the dead 


184 


PIPEE-BOV OF THE BOS f ON SIPGP. 


were still and made no sign, above the British 
barracks and the American homes in which was 
a tearful and a vain listening for a voice that 
never would sound again, for a step that never 
more would come back. 


CHAPTER XYIL 


IN THE MEETING-HOUSE AGAIN. 

Miriam Spring, sweet as a June rose, had 
come to the Watertown meeting-house, on a July 
Sabbath. She had had some misgivings about 
leaving her patient, but why, that particular day 
more than any other, she could not say. In gen- 
eral, she had not been wholly at ease since 
the Sabbath when Joab had with Miriam that 
interview so unsatisfactory to Joab. She ex- 
pected that in some violent way he would wreak 
his vengeance upon Graham. She could only 
think of Graham’s actual arrest and abduction 
by eToab, carrying out to the farthest con- 
sequence his assertion that Graham was a spy. 
And yet she thought there would be nothing 
done this July Sabbath, in spite of any of her 
nervous apprehensions, and she would go to the 
meeting-house and sing in the Watertown choir. 

And what an excitement she found all over 
the meeting-house! General George Washing- 
ton was not only in town, but was also “ cornin’ 
to meetin’ ! ” 

“ General George Washington ! ” whispered 

185 


186 lui M-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGZ 

Miriam, softly up in the singing seats. She 
peated it in a kind of awe, “ General George 
Washington! I saw him come into town, but if 
I had known he was coming to meeting, I 
would have put on my very best dress, my silk 
one. Oh, dear 1 ’’ 

It was a forgivable regret with which she 
looked down on her plainer costume, but the 
more showy might not have been as becoming. 
How was she dressed ? 

Think of her handsome face looking out of a 
close modest bonnet, while below her delicately 
rounded chin was a soft white muslin kerchief 
crossed over her bosom and fastened with a 
quaint old brooch of gold once belonging to 
her English great-grandmother. Her gown was 
homespun, woolen of course, and it fell in folds 
of bright butternut brown. The skirt was short, 
and it showed the dainty feet of which Miriam 
was proud, hidden and yet revealed in shoes with 
pointed toes and high heels. On account of 
General George Washington, there naturally, of 
course, would have been a little extra attention 
given to dress. 

“General Washington here in our meeting- 
house 1 ” said Miriam, softly ; “ why, why, why ! ” 
She then gave her dress a new pull. 

Such an excitement as there Avas in Water- 
town ! The commander-elect of all the Ameri- 


In TME MEETING-HOUSE AGAIN. i87 

can forces in their village ! It almost took away 
the breath of Watertown dwellers in the valley 
of the rippling Charles, but they had enough left 
when it came to telling the news to other towns. 

The Kevolutionary struggle had been develop- 
ing. Since Lexington and Concord, not only had 
risen into everlasting prominence Breed’s Hill, or 
Bunker Hill, as history will have it, but Ticon- 
deroga fortress had been taken, a bright feather 
hopelessly plucked away from the British plume. 
Eleven colonies had previously organized a Con- 
gress which, meeting in Philadelphia, had ad- 
journed in the autumn of 1774. It met once 
more. May 10, 1775, and this chanced to be six 
hours after Ticonderoga had been captured. 

Congress gathered in Philadelphia. Such 
leaders as Patrick Henry and George Washing- 
ton of Virginia, Benjamin Franklin of Pennsyl- 
vania, John and Samuel Adams of Massachusetts 
were there. One more attempt was made to 
move the British monarch, not by a musket 
planted at his ear, but by the peaceful mode of 
petition. This one more appeal was sent to him. 
Long ere the king died, it was known that before 
the Be volutionary War the king had moods, 
pointing to mental derangement. The American 
question may have at times come to him when he 
was in the shadow of these attacks, and some- 
thing on this score should be allowed King 


l88 FiFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGF. 

George. When the war was over, and America’s 
relation to Great Britain was that of an inde- 
pendent power, George Third was prompt and 
cordial in recognizing the fact. To bring this 
about, though, a tedious war must be undertaken 
and carried through. In Congress, John Adams 
of Massachusetts moved that George Washington 
of Virginia be commander-in-chief of America’s 
army. Washington stepped out of the hall when 
his name was spoken. He felt the burden de- 
scending upon him. He was forty-three years 
old, and was he the wisest of America’s sages ? 

“ I fear that this day will mark the downfall 
of my reputation,” he told Patrick Henry, his 
eyes swimming in tears. The nomination was 
unanimously confirmed. In his dignified way, 
he received his appointment, but he would not 
take any salary beyond the sum his expenses 
might necessitate. Four major-generals were 
chosen, Israel Putnam, Artemus Ward, Philip 
Schuyler and Charles Lee. The twenty-first of 
June, Washington left Philadelphia. There was 
no railroad to bring him north, and he came on 
horseback. Generals Schuyler and Lee were in 
Washington’s party. When he reached Spring- 
field, Mass., a delegation from the Provincial 
Congress at Watertown met him, and on Sat- 
urday, July first, amid what excitement the 
hoofs of the party’s horses beat out in the dusty 


In MBetIng-house again. led 

road leading into Watertown from the west, the 
proud announcement that George Washington, 
America’s commander-in-chief, attended by a 
civic and military escort, had actually arrived ! 
ISTo doubt about it ! Such a wave of excitement 
as swept down every road and across the quiet 
fields ! Everybody was electrified. Oh, it was 
something worth living for, just to see this proud, 
happy day. 

Still stands in Watertown, on the south side of 
the Charles, the substantial old structure known 
as the Coolidge Tavern. At this famous halting 
place for tired travelers. General Washington 
reined in his horse, and I can see “Marm 
Coolidge ” wearing a freshly laundered cap 
decked with her best and brightest ribbon, 
coming to the tavern door and curtseying grace- 
fully to the grand guest on horseback. 

The next day was the New England Sabbath. 
George Washington was a man that honored the 
Lord’s Day, and while a communicant of the 
Church of England, a worshiper in Christ Church, 
Alexandria, he was a man of wide, catholic sym- 
pathies, and worshiped with all who worshiped 
the common Saviour. And he was to be in the 
meeting-house on Watertown Common that very 
day! 

If this news had escaped Miriam, it seemed to 
alight at every other door, and had thrown every 


190 FIFEk-BOY OF THE BOSTON SlEoF. 

household into a flutter. When had the meet- 
ing-house been so honored before ! It must have 
been packed that day, plain farming folks gath- 
ering there, soldiers and officers too, and the great 
Provincial Congress. 

We know how Miriam up in the gallery was 
dressed, but while she was in homespun, it is not 
likely that every woman was thus clad in do- 
mestic wool, but treasured silks and satins “ came 
to meetin’.” And the men? Some, too, were 
in homespun, but the elite both of Watertown 
and Massachusetts must have had representatives 
there, for in connection with the meetings of the 
Provincial Congress, Watertown was quite a 
court town for one ambitious to be democratic 
only. I can see in the plain pews gentlemen 
with hair snowily powdered, and tied in a long 
queue. 

Miriam’s eyes followed one stranger coming 
into the meeting-house, and his dress illustrated a 
then fashionable style. He wore a peach bloom 
coat, dotted with white buttons, lined with white 
silk, the skirts stiff with buckram and “ standing 
off.” The vest was of figured white silk, di- 
vided at the bottom so that the pockets came far 
back on the thighs. The shirt bosom was 
plaited, ruffled too, and it suggested a big at- 
tempt at blossoming. There was another attempt 
at each wrist, for here were ample ruffles, but not 


IN THE MEETING-HOUSE AGAIN. 191 

SO luxuriant as to be allowed to hide one 
moment the bright sleeve buttons of gold. How 
nice were his “ small clothes ” of black silk, while 
big silver buckles shone out like stars on each 
knee. The stockings were of white silk, and they 
rose in good proportions above shoes that had 
silver buckles to match those at the knees. 

But where was Washington? Everybody 
was in a flutter to think that possibly the great 
man might enter, and he or she might not see 
the actual entrance. There were seasons of false 
alarm, when every head, as if a vane struck by a 
strong wind, would swing toward the door. 

The hour, though, came at last. There was a 
more intense flutter than ever, a more excited 
looking and lo, he had come ! What a bobbing 
of heads, a craning of necks, and what boy could 
contain himself ! Miriam, looking down from 
the singers’ gallery, saw Washington’s tall, mar- 
tial figure striding down the aisle. He was a 
little over six feet high, of large stately build, 
and of great strength and endurance. His face 
was oval, smooth and florid, and his eyes of dark 
blue, ‘‘ deeply set.” And was he looking up to- 
ward the gallery ? Miriam’s heart beat faster as 
she wondered if the commander of all of Amer- 
ica’s forces might really be noticing a humble 
singer in the gallery I Washington’s place in the 
meeting-house may have been a conspicuous front 


192 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


pew, or the honored seat under the pulpit where 
sat the deacons on the Lord’s Day and the mod- 
erator of the town meeting on days when the 
town gathered to consider public measures. If 
Washington had gone up into the sacred pulpit 
it would have been none too good for him. 

I know not who conducted the services that 
day, but they must have been of the wonted 
plainness of style. There was prayer — there was 
singing — but what member of the choir sang 
with the customary composure ? Miriam’s heart 
fluttered as if her song were a bird cag.ed in her 
bosom and trying to fly out. There must have 
been a sermon. It was that day the Provincial 
Congress received Washington at the meeting- 
house. President James Warren addressed the 
head of America’s armies. It was a great occasion 
for the meeting-house, and a still greater one for 
Watertown. While Miriam was enjoying it, sud- 
denly it occurred to her — why, she could not say 
— whether Joab Amsden might not be in his pew, 
looking on, also interested in the address. She 
did not want to glance that way, but could not 
seem to help it. His seat was vacant ! 

Then where was he ? It seemed to her as if a 
cloud must have come into the meeting-house by 
its biggest door, and rolling in everywhere, com- 
pletely hidden General Washington, the Provin- 
cial Congress, its president, the man in the peach 


IN THE MEETING-HOUSE AGAIN. 193 

bloom coat, everybody. She saw nothing save 
that empty seat. It all happened so very sud- 
denly. Where was Joab Amsden? Up to what 
mischief was he ? 

As soon as there was a loophole in the exercises 
permitting escape, she rose, left the singers’ seats, 
left even George Washington, went down the 
brown old stairway in the tower, and hurriedly 
passed out. She took a path across the fields to 
the farmhouse that was hospital also, and there 
she met with strange tidings. Hews had been 
brought by a neighbor that J oab Amsden and 
several soldiers were coming to take Graham 
away, and he had saved them the trouble by tak- 
ing himself out of the house ! ^ 

“ Gone where ? ” asked Miriam. 

They saw him going across the fields in the 
rear of the house, but could say nothing more. 

“ Oh, I know ! ” she said. “ He told me where 
he might go in any danger.” 

Chancing to look out of the window, she saw 
Joab Amsden and several soldiers out on the 
green before the house! She flew to the rear 
door, slipped out of it, then back of the barn, and 
next sped away across the green, open fields. 

Did she hear Joab Amsden crying, “ Stop ! ” 
Perhaps so, but she did not halt. On she ran, 
bearing away to the right, till she struck the road 
climbing Meeting-house Hill. 


194 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


And Joab Amsden ? When he questioned the 
woman of the house about Graham’s movements, 
the answer was, ‘‘ I cannot tell you. Miriam 

knows — Oh ” She laid a hand upon her 

mouth, for she did not mean to tell all this. 

“The Tory jade!” cried Joab. “I saw her 
come into the house. I’ll hunt back of it ! ” 

In vain did he cry, “ Stop ! ” 

“We must chase her,” he told his companions. 
“ She knows where the spy is. If she gets to 
him first, she will tell him, and they’ll be off in a 
twinkling, and we fools have our labors for our 
pains. Away ! Faster there 1 ” 

It was a race now, and not more than three 
minutes ahead was Miriam. She was more 
lightly dressed, but they were the more vigorous. 

“ Oh God, pity me I ” was her outcry, looking 
back and then looking up. Two fields away, 
she saw the forms of soldiers climbing over a 
stone wall. 

“Stop there!” bawled Joab. “We are gain- 
ing on ye ! ” 

The next moment, he went headlong, pitching 
down into a ditch that the rank growth of the 
grass in summer had hidden. Venting a horrible 
curse at the ditch, he crawled out in a dry place, 
helped by his allies. 

“ Lost two minutes in that hole to the infernal 
regions ! ” groaned Joab. 


m THE 3IEETING-H0USE AGAIN. 195 

At the foot of Meeting-house Hill, Miriam 
gave a hasty glance backward. 

“ Oh, thank God, I have gained a little.’’ 

Up the hill she panted. It seemed as if her 
heart were out of place and trying to break 
through the folds of her brown butternut dress. 
At the top of the hill, she did not halt, yet 
turned, and were her pursuers in a wagon? Yes. 
She dared not look a second time. She had al- 
ways admired the westward view from Meeting- 
house Hill, but not for a moment did she give 
her thoughts to the country rolling far away in 
billows of green, softening to azure as they 
swept along the horizon. 

Hark! What did she hear as she descended 
the hill and neared an old road toiling on its hot, 
dusty way from Cambridge to Waltham ? The 
sound of wheels? What if it should be the 
sound of some kind of vehicle that would possibly 
turn down into the road she wished to take ? 

She dared not hope, and any hope would have 
been disappointed, for the old-fashioned carriage 
from Cambridge, now rumbled unconcerned up 
the Waltham road. 

On she flew. When she turned again to look 
back, she saw her pursuers still in a wagon and 
there was a sharp, echoing rattle to the quickly 
turning wheels. 

Was there no hope? Would she be unable to 


196 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


reach Graham ? If she succeeded in getting to 
the end of the race, if that poor, panting frame 
could keep on its way so far, would not Joab, the 
fiend, arrive as promptly, and this race by her be 
in vain ? 

She must not stop though — and — and what was 
it she saw and heard just ahead ? Out of a farm- 
yard rolled the old farm wagon from home, and 
who but Miriam’s mother should be in that chariot 
of peace occasionally clucking to old Hiram, the 
horse I 

“ Moth-moth-mother ! ” she screamed. Mother 
Spring saw with alarm an excited being looking 
like her daughter. She quickly pulled Hiram in, 
and received the panting Miriam. 

“How, mother, just as fast as you can — oh 
quick ! I’ll tell you — they’re chasing me and 
coming for Graham ! ” 

“ Git up thar ! Git — Hirum ! What is the 
matter, Mirium ? ” 

“Just touch him with that birch, mother” — 
she was looking back — “ they’re gaining — they’re 
touching up too ! Faster ! ” 

“ I will Git up, Hirum ! ” 

Whack went the birch on Hiram’s back in re- 
peated and vigorous blows. He was not a slow 
horse. His form was long, his back bony, his 
legs stiff and angular, but there lingered in the 
depths of his consciousness an idea that once he 


IN THE MEETING-HOUSE AGAIN. 197 

could travel, and this old gone-to-sleep memory 
began to wake up. His old veins were thrilled 
with a sense of power. He threw up his head. 
He pricked up his ears as he caught still more 
forcibly the whack of the young birch coming 
down on his back. He began to put one foot be- 
fore the other in an unusual manner. His long 
body semed visibly to stretch out still longer. 
Hiram began to emulate the wind. 

Oh mother, we have gained a little, I do be- 
lieve ! ” 

“ What is the matter, Mirium ? ” 

“ Oh mother — I must look round — the soldiers 
— and that Joab is among them — are after Gra- 
ham — and I believe he is at our house — they are 

driving harder — oh faster — I can see ” 

“ I will Git up thar, Hirum ! ” 

Hiram stretched himself out still longer, took 
still more extended strides, and was arousing 
himself into a most passionate run, calling into 
exercise every power in his body. Miriam was 
turning her head, her dark eyes on fire, a dash of 
crimson coloring her fair cheeks, her black hair 
blown out into a tangle that caressingly lay upon 
her forehead. 

“ She is handsomer than the Evil One could 
make her ! ’’ thought Joab, whose horse had been 
urged to the making of a fresh spurt and had 
gained on old Hiram and brought Joab nearer. 


10ft 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


“ If I can only overtake her and find out where 
Graham is and nab him ! ” 

“ Hold on ! ’’ he shouted. 

“ Faster, mother ! ’’ 

Here Mother Spring rose up in her seat and 
still more deliberately applied all that was left of 
the stimulating birch. “That won’t hurt ye, 
Hirum ! Git up ! ” 

“ Have you seen Graham at the house ? ” 

“ Why no, child ! I have been with a sick 
neighbor, and was just goin’ home.” 

“ Those men are after Graham, and I think we 
shall find him at the house, and yet I don’t know 

as I want to find him Oh dear ! ” 

“ They shall have not the least help from me, 
if I can fix it. Git up, you — poke ! ” 

The last word came hesitatingly, for Mother 
Spring was carefully picking out a word. She 
wanted something that would light on Hiram 
like a firebrand, and this word — anything but a 
combustible — seemed to have strange effect. 
Hiram accepted it as a rebuke. To think that 
after that effort of bone and muscle, he was only 
a poke ! He made a final effort, and threw his 
awkward limbs forward at an agonizing pace. 

“ Oh, mother, that last is doing the work ! ” 
cried the handsome daughter, looking back. 
“We are gaining ! Call him ‘poke’ again ! ” 
Suddenly Hiram stumbled ! No’w he was 


m THE MEETlNG-noVsE AGAIN. 199 

called “ you mean poke ! ’’ Mother Spring pulled 
him up with difficulty, and he recovered himself 
quickly as possible, but he went with a limp, and 
when the Springs’ wagon, clattering and rolling, 
shaking and jolting, pulled up at the farm- 
house door, it was not a hundred feet ahead of 
the other wagon. Hiram’s head was hanging 
low as if the once proud horse had suddenly be- 
come a mortified sheep. 

Miriam jumped from her seat. She rushed 
into the kitchen. Graham sat in a rocking-chair 
by the window. 

‘‘ Oh Graham, they are after you ! Quick ! 
Come this way ! ” He understood at once and 
followed her. 

‘‘ Let no one tell of Graham ! ” she cried to 
somebody in the kitchen, but who it was, she 
could not say. It was only a neighbor. 

Miriam led the way into the sitting-room, and 
then out of it into the little front entry and so up 
the narrow stairs. 

“ Oh hurry, Graham ! Up this way ! ” 

Come ” 

“ But, my dear ! ” 

“ My dear ! ” It was delicious, this bit of af- 
fection, fed out impulsively to this hungry soul. 

The clatter of the arrival of Graham’s pur- 
suers could be heard out in the yard, but Miriam 
was none the less of a heroine because she 


200 


fifer-boY oE fiiE bosi'on siege. 


allowed herself to forget, one moment, the pres- 
ence of any danger, and nourished her soul on 
that unpremeditated but sincere confession, “ my 
dear.” 

“ Is there any chance ? ” he was asking. 

“Yes, yes,” was Miriam’s excited assurance, 
“yes, a chance — we will make a chance.” 

“ If I could get out on a roof, or I — can drop 
down out of a window ” 

“ Quick, quick ! Yes, a chance — somewhere.” 

She was now in the second story, Graham 
trustingly following. She flew from room to 
room, from closet to closet, looking for an oppor- 
tunity to hide a fugitive somewhere. In her 
haste and confusion, she even opened a bureau 
drawer. She reached the garret stairway. Down 
its worn steps, came a smell of thoroughwort and 
pennyroyal and hardback, herbs gathered from 
the fields a previous autumn, and not yet all 
steeped in tea for the torment of invalids. 

“ There ! ” said Miriam, with a tone of satis- 
faction. 

When she came down into the kitchen, she was 
alone. 

“ Whar is that spy ? ” bawled J oab. 

At first Miriam made no answer. She only 
stared sweetly, her hand pressing upon her flut- 
tering heart. Then she slowly said, “I don’t 
know anything about a spy.” 


CHAP TEft AVIlI. 


THE CLOCK IN THE GARRET. 

Once upon a time, there was an old garret. 
It had such interesting relics as a disused cup- 
board, two ancient chests with blue lids, broken 
chairs, a broken set of drawers, and from stout 
hand-wrought nails driven into the rafters 
hung discarded blouses and trousers and over- 
coats that touched the floor. Sometimes there 
would creep behind these relics a draught of wind 
and it would gently stir them. Then it seemed 
as if an Ahaz, a Jacob, a Eehoboam hiding be- 
hind the garments might every moment step out, 
and with a hungry look glance at the clock to 
see if it might not be breakfast time or dinner 
time or supper time, and going to the cupboard, 
throw wide open its dusty doors, and search its 
shelves for doughnuts or pie. 

‘‘ Glance- at the clock ! ” 

I have omitted to say that there was a vener- 
able clock standing in one corner. It was tall 
and stout. Its dial had a peculiar feature. In 
the lower half, was a roughly painted sea of 
green. On the edge of the sea rose a lighthouse 
201 


202 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIFgE. 

of brown. There was a black ship .on that green 
sea, never sailing nowadays, but once when the 
clock filled a corner downstairs and was an 
honored timepiece, the ship would rock as if a 
tempest stirred that green sea. That emerald 
water, though, was as dead as paint ever can be. 
The craft owed its life to the pendulum, for the 
latter carried on its summit the gallant ship, and 
deliberately rocked it. The ship never tossed 
nowadays on a painted sea. Nothing stirred un- 
less an impertinent draught of wind effected an 
entrance and moved the clothes. Peace was the 
order of things up in the garret. 

Yery different from the quiet, upstairs, was 
the scene, that Sabbath, down in the kitchen of 
the farmhouse. 

“Where is that spy?” asked Joab again. 

“ I don’t know anything about a spy, I told 
you,” replied Miriam, emphatically. 

“ Where is that British soldier you have been 
nussin ’ ? ” 

“ He ? Wherever he is, there he is.” 

“ Do you mean to tell me ? ” 

“ I have no information to give you.” 

“ You refuse altogether ? ” 

“ Altogether.” 

“ You hussy 1 Now ” 

“You be respectful to my darter!” Mother 
Spring broke in very earnestly. 


The clock in the garreL. 203 

“ Oh nonsense ! I won’t hurt your darter. 
We are goin’ to search this house for a spy. 
Jones, come with me ! ” 

Upstairs, they went. On the second floor, 
they found nothing at all suspicious. 

“ Jones,” ordered Joab, “you go up into the 
garret and holler down if you find anything. 
Take your gun. Don’t come down till I tell 
you. I hear a noise downstairs. P’r’aps they 
have got that spy.” 

Jones, a dark-eyed, timid man, had an air of 
expecting that something was going to happen 
any moment, and what if it happened up in that 
garret ? However, he gripped his gun and obeyed 
orders. Up the stairs he tramped noisily, for the 
sound of his cowhide boots gave him courage. 

He now proceeded to investigate the premises. 
Cautiously moving, his “ fixed bayonet ” held be- 
fore him, he opened the cupboard door, lifted the 
lids of the blue chests, and then shaking his head, 
eyed suspiciously those suspended garments. He 
shook his head at the cast-offs. They did not 
look threatening. Standing aside, with his bay- 
onet he pricked an old overcoat, a pair of drawers, 
a corpulent blouse, and so went along the entire 
row, putting his bayonet into the imagined Ahabs 
and Ahazes, finally exclaiming, “Nothin’ thar! ” 

He stepped up to the clock and boldly pricked 
the door with his bayonet, declaring, “ This old 


204 FIFEE-BOV OF THE BOSTON SIEGE, 

thing might go if she had a stirrin’ up. Dead as 
a doornail now ! ” 

He then eyed, closely but prudently, two heaps 
of cast-aside clothing in a corner, at last making 
a valiant charge upon them, carrying each forti- 
fication at the point of the bayonet. Encouraged 
by his victories, he smilingly approached two 
covered boxes and completely routed them, a 
cloud of feathers flying up as he turned them 
over. 

“ My ! Hen’s feathers, I do believe for the 
beds! Wall! Ho spy is thar.” 

There was one other place to be examined, a 
space of dark shadows behind the bulky chimney. 
With characteristic prudence, he reached round a 
chimney-corner with his gun, bayoneting the 
shadows energetically. Declaring that “ nothin’ ” 
was “ thar,” he took a seat on the topmost stair 
to wait until ordered down. 

Was that the wind moaning near him ? It 
wailed about the window, and Jones did not like 
it. It made him think of smallpox, — a frightful 
scourge in those days — and death. The pestilence 
might be carried in clothes. He wondered if it 
might be lurking in the clothing hanging from the 
rafters ! He was glad he poked all through it 
with his bayonet. What if the smallpox had got 
into the bayonet ? 

Ugh ! He laid down his gun quickly. It is i 


THE CLOCK IN THE GAERET. 20o 

Avonder how he ever became a soldier. He was 
a wonder to himself in this matter. The craze 
for enlisting after the battle of Lexington might 
have explained it. It was a tide of patriotic feeling 
that came along and swept him into the false 
position of a soldier. He inwardly had resolved 
to slip back, when his time was up, to his plow- 
handle, and his stony fields, his cows and his milk 
pails, and serve his country there. 

Ho, he did not like this wind moaning about 
the garret roof, or that dark place behind the 
chimney, or the old clothing perhaps infected 
with death — and — and — what an ugly place this 
might be in the night, the wind moaning, the 
smallpox clothes coming at any soul there, the 
evil one himself leading on the column — and — 
and what did he see ? 

The sky had been clouded, but the clouds lift- 
ing, a sudden gush of sunlight came into the 
garret. Though mot falling directly upon the 
clock, the latter was affected by this illumination, 
and into what prominence, the dial, the ship, and 
all the front, were brought. Strange was the 
change ! The clock that had been so dead an 
object, began to show signs of life ! The ship 
began to toss as if in a storm, while a hole in 
the door, as if instinct with Satanic energy, be- 
came an evil eye, and winked significantly at the 
brave soldier on the topmost stair ! 


^06 FIFEB-BOY OF THE BOSTON SJEGE^ 

At first, he thought he might have been mis- 
taken. His vision must have been clouded, his 
eyes drowsy. There was no mistake though of 
vision. The ship still rocked violently ; the evil 
eye winked horribly ! 

“ It is the devil ! ’’ exclaimed Jones, and down- 
stairs he went. He would have kept on until he 
reached the kitchen, but he recalled Joab’s com- 
mand to stay until ordered down and he halted 
in the second story. 

“Got through! We’ve got through!” Joab 
was bawling. “ You through ? ” 

“Through? Yes! Nothin’ here!” he said, 
and added in a lower tone, “ but the devil ! ” 

“Come, then! We’ve hunted down cellar and 
out in the barn. Come ! Be spry ! Don’t be 
pokin’ ’round up thar ! ” 

“ Pokin’ ’round ! ” muttered Jones, stamping 
downstairs. “ Wish he’d given me a chance to 
come afore ! ” 

“I think,” said Joab to his valiant posse, “I 
think that spy must have cleared out of a second 
story winder — you didn’t keep a sharp lookout, 
Jones — and we must take a turn round in the 
fields.” After this unappreciative remark, Jones 
was more determined than ever to quit a dis- 
tasteful military service and return to his corn- 
fields. 

Up in the garret, it had been very quiet. The 


THE CLOCK IN THE GARRET. 


207 


sunshine lazily stretched itself out upon the 
floor like some great yellow cat at rest there. 
The ship that had been so crazily jumping, lay 
as becalmed as anything of metal and paint could 
be. Suddenly, the ship began to jump again, 
and very violently now as if it would certainly 
go upon the lighthouse rocks, that in days of the 
clock’s activity it ever threatened to reach and 
yet ever avoided. Still more frantically did the 
ship jump, when the clock door opened, and out 
stepped Graham ! 

“[N’obody here ! ” he exclaimed, looking about. 
“ If it had not been for the fact that the clock 
had no back to it, I should have stifled in that 
hiding-place where Miriam left me. I came 
prett}^ near upsetting the thing just before that 
fellow went downstairs. I was looking out 
through a hole, and rocking too the pendulum, 
when — but I wonder if my jailer has gone for 
good ! ” 

He went to the window and looked out. 
“Ah, there they go among the trees in the 
orchard ! ” 

He watched them awhile and then he saw them 
returning. Into an old wagon they climbed. 
What a. pleasant music those wagon-wheels 
made ! Sweet was their rattle. He turned to- 
ward the garret stairway. Must he wait longer ? 

Soon there was a light step on the garret 


208 


FIFER BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


stairs, and Miriam inquired, “Do you want me 
to let you out of jail ? ” 

“ Yes, yes ! I think my enemies have gone.” 

“ I think so too, but we will not be too sure. 
I have my sentinels posted, and they will give 
warning if anything happens. I don’t think I 
can let you out just yet, though I expect, poor 
fellow, you were almost cramped to death.” 

She walked toward the clock while he went to 
the head of the garret stairs and sat down there. 
Sympathy was like honey in the comb. He was 
grateful for the pity given to a “ poor fellow.” 

“ Pretty close quarters ! I think though if I 
had been anywhere else, I should have been 
caught. I could hear him poking round — who- 
ever it was ” 

“Jones Drayton, and he is such a scarecrow ! 
How did you induce him to go down, for the 
sound of his voice when he spoke, told me he was 
in the second story ? What did you do to 
him?” 

“ I don’t know that I did anything, though I 
was prepared to do a good deal if he had opened 
that clock door.” 

“ I heard Jones say to a man he could not find 
anybody up in the garret, but if one went up 
there on a dark night, said Jones, he would find 
the evil one there.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know, I don’t know about this 


THE CLOCK IN THE GARRET. 


209 


strange garret.” He looked about him very de- 
liberately. Then he looked at her and her eyes 
fell before his glance. 

“ It may be a very uncomfortable place, and it 
may be a very nice place. I think it depends on 
whom you are with.” 

She stood on the topmost stair. He was on 
the next lower step, comfortably seated there. 

“ Perhaps I’ll go down,” said Miriam. She 
planted her foot in no “ perhaps ” way, but firmly 
and deliberately on the step he occupied. 

“ Oh, I would not hurry ; I owe you so much, 
and I do not see you very often or as much as I 
would like, though we are under the same roof.” 

That was true. Hot having the direct care of 
him, but as an assistant helping in his room oc- 
casionally, how could she see him as often as he 
might wish ? And then, while she found a peculiar 
atmosphere of joy in his presence, still she was 
ill at ease, and often found herself avoiding the 
very presence that she would have sought if 
obeying the impulses of her heart. 

“ I owe you so much,” he was saying again, 
looking up. 

“ Oh, I don’t know. It does not seem to be 
very much I have done — and — and — I think I 
must go down.” 

She planted her other foot firmly on the step 
he occupied. Yes, she must go down. 


210 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


He now rose up. 

“I cannot let you go.” 

“ Am I a prisoner ? ” 

“Yes, and I am your jailer.” 

“ How long, sir ? ” 

“ Until you tell me that you love me.” 


CHAPTEK XIX. 


FOUND IN THE KOAD. 

Tom Cakter was sauntering out of the gate- 
way of Harvard College. On opposite sides of 
those portals stood, even as to-day, those honored 
halls, Massachusetts and Harvard. Holden 
Chapel was a neighbor, and in the rear rose 
Stoughton and Hollis. The president’s house 
occupied since President Wadsworth’s time by 
those who might be leading the college facult}^, 
lifted its wooden walls in dignity at one side of 
the college grounds. Xature had with early zeal 
beautified the college yard, but earthworks built 
in fear of a British attack, drew their rough and 
disfiguring line across the green grass. Tom and 
Cy were dignified residents of Stoughton. 

‘‘I did not think I should come so soon to 
college, Tom. I might have known, though, I 
was marked out for a wise man,” Cy had re- 
marked to his messmate. 

“ Hor I, Cy, but now that they’ve turned these 
buildings into barracks, we get the benefit of it. 
I like going to college, Cy.” 

“ Ezackly.” 

311 


212 FIFE R- BO y OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

Harvard College, though limited in size to the 
buildings I have mentioned, gave to the Kevo- 
lution the strong help of its cooperation and its 
influence. Its very buildings became allies. The 
contents of the college were sent to Concord, 
and the soldier, not the student, reigned on the 
college green. The soldier reigned everywhere 
in the neighborhood. The American army num- 
bered seventeen thousand men. It had recently 
received a supreme head. 

General Washington’s strong, stately figure 
could have been seen one day in a big gathering 
near an elm opposite the college. He had come 
on horseback from Watertown to meet a re- 
sponsibility under the branches of the elm. He 
assumed that responsibility with due formality, 
and George Washington was recognized as 
the commander-in-chief of the American army. 
This force was like a huge bird crouching 
at Cambridge, throwing out strong wings to 
the right and left. The right wing reached 
round through Eoxbury into Dorchester. The 
left wing of this young American eagle 
stretched round through what is known now as 
Somerville into Malden. It might have seemed 
as if at any time this big bird with strong wings 
could have risen up, swooped down upon Boston, 
and easily borne away in its talons all the British 
garrison. Numerically, the British were inferior, 


FOUND IN THE ROAD. 


213 


counting up between six and seven thousand. In 
experience, in equipments, they were far superior. 
They had seen much soldierly service. They had 
plenty of ammunition. They were strongly 
posted, Charlestown-way. Their white tents 
dotted Bunker Hill, while Breed’s Hill had its 
redoubt, and the British sentries, like the feelers 
of some huge creature, were thrust out four 
hundred feet beyond CharlestoAvn Heck. On 
the other side of Boston, on Boston Heck that 
with its fringe of wild marshes stretched to Kox- 
bury, there were stubborn intrenchments. Ban- 
croft says “ the sentries of the two armies could 
almost have conversed together.” 

Did any one think there was a big force of 
patriots in Boston that would help the Ameri- 
cans if attacking the town ? Many of the people 
had left. Less than seven thousand remained. 
Of these, some must have been in sympathy with 
the British. The patriotic element was in dis- 
ti’ess. Food was scarce. The British soldiery 
were not gentle. There were chafing restrictions 
like one compelling people to be in their houses 
by ten in the evening. Puritanism might not 
favor late hours, but when a house became a jail 
at ten, the prisoner chafed in his confinement. 

But what about the young eagle outside, with 
seemingly strong wings ? The army counting 
seventeen thousand, had less than fifteen thou- 


214 


FIFEE-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE, 


sand actually fit for duty. There was much to 
be done to bring into effective discipline the 
suddenly gathered ranks. The men had come 
from New England mostly. They had rushed 
from their farms, their shops, and, accustomed 
to the independence of kings, they were not 
quick to come down from their thrones and be- 
come subjects. They must learn a soldier’s 
hardest lesson, obedience to another’s will. 
What about their resources ? They did not 
have powder enough for their guns ; they might 
not have the guns even. The Continental Con- 
gress could not be expected to do everything, and 
it did not. Its powers, its resources, w^ere too 
recent. 

Some of the men arriving as soldiers, were 
strange in look and in equipments. Fifty 
friendly Indians came. They belonged to the 
Stockbridge tribe. They probably could have 
supplied the American eagle with more feathers 
than ammunition. Bows and arrows as well as 
guns were their weapons. Squaws and papooses 
came with them. 

One July day, arrived Captain Thompson’s 
band dressed in Indian fashion, a rifle over the 
shoulder, a tomahawk or knife at the belt. They 
had marched hundreds of miles. The little vil- 
lage of Cambridge, with a population of fifteen 
hundred, was now turned into a camp. Its many 


Pound in the road. 2I5 

^rucie, dissimilar elements, Washington was ex- 
pected to unite in a well-disciplined army, and 
equip it if he could. 

It was one of this army, Tom Parker, saunter- 
ing out of the yard of Harvard College, the day 
of this chapter. As he looked around, he could 
see the meeting-house, the courthouse, the begin- 
ning of the Watertown Road with such a fringe 
of houses belonging to royalists that it had been 
known as Tory Row. In the Vassall House, 
Washington would make his final headquarters. 
In later years, the poet Longfellow would give 
wings to much sweet poetry in the same house. 
Tom looked across the road to the cemetery and 
to Christ Church beyond it, and- to three con- 
spicuous elms, near one of which Washington 
had taken command of the American army. To 
the right was Cambridge Common, a big, irreg- 
ular space of green. Past it, wound the road to 
Menotomy, with its scattered farmhouses. This 
highway the British forces took in that mis- 
taken march to Lexington and Concord, and 
probably would have given much if they had not 
planted a foot in it. As he leisurely strolled 
along the Menotomy Road, Tom could think of 
no special reason for doing so save that possibly 
a company of troops might be marching along 
its grey, dusty line, and to see them would be a 
sight to stir the blood with a new and welcome 


2l6 PlP^R BO^ OF THE BOSTON SIEGP. 

interest. He carried his fife with him. If it had 
been a new instrument, he might have made 
prominent exhibition of it. As it was old and 
worn, he only brought it into the light when in 
service. 

But what did he see down at one side of the 
road ? Something bright, half covered by the 
grass, and yet enough of it was disclosed to 
make Tom cry out, “Why, a new fife, I do 
believe ! ” 

He sprang upon it. He clutched it eagerly. 

“ The very thing I want ! ’’ He could hardly 
restrain his enthusiasm. He wanted that very 
moment to put it to his lips and blow out of it 
the liveliest tune imaginable. 

A group of soldiers now coming down the road 
would wonder at it, he thought. 

“Who’s that big boy that can’t hold in his 
fire ? ” they would say. 

Could he not — he looked about him. There 
was a farmhouse he would soon reach, and near 
it was a barn — and if he could get into that barn 
— he reasoned — the next moment he was hurry- 
ing toward the farmhouse. 

He might have slackened his pace if he could 
have looked through a tree and seen behind it a 
man shrinking into as small a man as possible, 
and then when Tom had passed, looking out with 
eager eyes to see what Tom was doing. 


Pound in the roaP. 


^17 


“I’ll just see if anybody is at home,” said Tom, 
stepping quietly into the farmhouse yard. “I 
don’t see anybody round — that is good — looks as 
if they were all away. I’ll step to the door to 
make sure.” 

He knocked at a door and impatiently waited. 
There was no response. “They are all away,” 
he concluded. 

He hurried to the barn, nervously opened the 
door, stepped inside, and shut the door quickly 
behind him. 

He might not have been so ready to shut him- 
self in if he had noticed a man in the yard, that 
shrinking figure behind the tree near the spot 
where Tom picked up the fife, somebody that 
saw Tom take it and now dogged his steps to see 
what he would do. 

“ He’s got it — I’ll catch him with it — ha — ha ! ” 
said the sly watcher. 

When Tom was inside the barn, he looked 
round for a corner, a nook, a place where he 
might take out and try his new fife. 

“ Ah, sort of a tool closet, I think, over in that 
corner,” he said. 

His eyes glistened as he stole into this little 
retreat. In one corner was a window where 
spiders had been trying year after year to weave 
a curtain, now and then adding a fly to the folds 
they were dropping. A dusky light stole through 


218 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

the dusty paues and past the spiders’ curtain, and 
fell upon an assortment of hoes, shovels, pick, 
crowbar, the only witnesses of the arrival of this 
boy-Orpheus. 

He excitedly fingered the fife, drew a long 
breath, wet his lips, and then lifting the beloved 
reed, his eyes shining, he sent out what clear, 
piercing, echoing notes ! He forgot that he was 
in a barn, that shovels and hoes were his only 
companions, and, as if he were at the head of an 
American army marching up to retake a captured 
hill in Charlestown, he played Yankee Doodle! 

How he played ! How the notes flew to right 
and left ! How they leaped out, danced, exulted, 
sprang away in merry echoes 1 

Suddenly he stopped. The fife came down 
from his lips, in the hand that held it. It hung 
a useless thing by his side. The flashes died out 
of his eyes like a fire on a hearth that the rain 
reaches. 

When he found the fife, the first thought com- 
ing to him was that of possession, and he had 
exulted in it. Another thought came to him 
now, ownership. To whom did the fife belong ? 

“ Why,” said a voice, “ the fife does not belong 
to you. Instead of looking about and asking for 
its owner, you ran off with it as though you 
had found your own. How petty ! ” As if to 
emphasize this, an old horse in a stall gave a 


Pound in the road. 




sharp neigh. With the force of contempt, came 
this response to Yankee Doodle from the stalls. 

“ Whew — w — w ! ” thought Tom. “ That 
horse has more sense than I. This does not be- 
long to me, and yet, like a boy with a toy, 1 ran 
off to try it. What would grq^ndmother say ? ” 

If Tom’s grandmother had impressed anything 
upon him, it was the difference between two ad- 
jectives, “ mine ” and “ thine.” 

“Mine” — that meant Tom Parker’s old fife. 
“ Thine ” meant property belonging to somebody 
else. It included the new fife. Grandmother 
Parker hated anything like dishonesty, of what- 
ever possible form. She hated unfaithfulness in 
dealing with anything belonging to another. The 
thought of any encroachment on another’s prop- 
erty, was like a hot coal. “ Be honest, boy,” she 
said, “ no matter what it costs you.” 

Tom swung upon his heels, turned away from the 
window, and turned toward the door. Light was 
offensive. Suddenly the window darkened. The 
figure that had been behind a tree when Tom 
picked up the fife, eagerly watching him, was 
now at the window. 

“ What is that ? ” wondered Tom. “ Is that 
grandmother looking in?” 

He saw nothing but a shadow. He shook his 
head. Guilt was taking possession of him. He 
was guilty of a misappropriation. The closet 


220 ^IFER-nOY OP TllP BOSTON SIEGP. 

was becoming hateful. It was turning to a 
cell. 

The something at the window might have been 
the form of the sheriff or constable or one of a 
corporal’s guard planning an arrest. The air 
was oppressive. The shovels and hoes threatened 
to rise and hoe and throw him out-of-doors. 

He must find the owner of the fife. Otherwise, 
he could never look his grandmother in the face 
again. He moved toward the barn door and sud- 
denly — heard a ferocious pounding. 

“ It may be the constable or corporal’s guard,” 
he thought, ‘‘ but I won’t run, though.” He 
opened the door, and there stood his comrade, 
Cy, grinning away, a drum and drumsticks in his 
hands. 

‘‘ Why, Tom, how are ye ? ” 

“ Cy, how you frighten me ! ” 

Scat ye?” 

“ Why, where did you get that drum ? What 
are you up to ? I found a fife — I — I — must go — 
I want to find the owner.” 

‘‘ Ho, you won’t go. Tom, I’ll relieve you 
’bout that fife. I put that fife thar in the road 
— it is yours, old boy ! ” 

“ Mine ? ” 

“ Yes, and this drum is mine ! ” 

‘‘ Why— Cy ! ” 

‘‘Tom, you know I like to drum, but I haven’t 


Pound in the roaP. 


22i 


iiad a chance — been just a soldier — but you know 
I can drum. I had a chance to sell some hay 
and a cow to the Stevens sisters in Bedford who 
think a famine is cornin’ here on account of the 
war, and they gave me a good price, and I bought 
a drum (and I’ll git a chance in the army to 
drum, see if I don’t), and do you s’pose I was goin’ 
to stop with that, buyin’ suthin’ for myself? 
No, sir ! I knew your fife was an old one, and I 
bought ye a new one — and I was goin’ to the 
college to give it to you, but I saw you a-comin’ 
and I thought I would like to surprise you, and 
I left it in the road and I got behind a tree and 
then I f oiler ed you here — I saw you knock at 
that ere door, and I knew it was to see if the 
folks had got home, and they hadn’t — and Tom, 
that’s master-playin’ by ye, — and now step in 
here ! Back with ye ! Let’s both try ! ” 

They went to the tool closet. Tom gripped 
his fife and drew a long breath. Cy seized his 
drumsticks, threw back his head, drew in a long 
ferocious breath, and cried, Hun — now, Tom ! 
Americans on guard 1 British is a-comin’ ! 
Beady ! Give ’em Yankee Doodle ! ” 


CSAPTEK XX. 


A WAGON IN CAMP. 

One day, in the old Concord turnpike and 
heading for the army at Cambridge, appeared 
a farm wagon, patiently pulled by an old farm 
horse. Although not run by General Washing- 
ton’s commissary department or any private 
Yankee speculator, it held a variety of stores 
that might fittingly have been labeled, “ for the 
army at Cambridge.” Pork, beans, meal, pota- 
toes, eggs, a brace of chickens, green corn, a jug 
of milk, were among the appetizing goods. Xo 
soldier was in charge of these army goods, but 
two young women were perched on the wagon 
seat. One had dark eyes, the other blue. One 
was a brunette, and the second a blonde. The 
first was without doubt spirited. It occasionally 
flashed out of her eyes. Self-reliant, she could 
dare. The other did not readily show her tem- 
perament, but she had a serious, deliberate look, 
and one could say of her, “ This young woman 
may not make much show, but she has power in 
reserve that will carry her through any emer- 
gency.” 

222 


A WAGON IN CAMP. 


223 


A more interesting pair of maidens never rode 
in an old wagon along the country road, winding 
like a stream from Watertown to Cambridge. 

“ They won’t be expecting us,” said the older, 
“and so they won’t be looking for us. We must 
hunt up their rooms. Oh, see ! There are two 
more wagons. I wonder if they are going to 
the army. Yes, a man is in one, and a woman in 
the other, and just see the goods piled up all 
about each one ! What a stock ! Ours looks 
quite small.” 

“ Oh, they may be coarse goods all in a big 
lump, and ours, Miriam — well, we won’t boast.” 

“ I don’t believe they have any bundle like this 
pennyroyal. Mother would go out and get it 
this morning. She said, ‘ If anything is the 
matter with the soldiers, some of this made into 
tea will do them good.’ ” 

“ I can smell it here.” 

“ Oh, dear, it is next to the cheese ! I’ll sepa- 
rate them.” 

“ Do ! It is for the army, and pennyroyal 
must not trouble the cheese, for this is good 
enough, I expect, to suit General Washington. 
He deserves it, for they say he is very busy try- 
ing to straighten out things which sometimes are 
much mixed up. Oh, there is the Common, and 
there are the colleges — and look! There arc 
some soldiers going by I See, see 1 ” 


224 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


A company from a Continental regiment was 
passing. 

“ See, see ! ” cried Miriam. “ There’s Tom, and 
there’s his bosom friend, Cy ! Oh, yes ! I want 
to give them three cheers.” Miriam rose up. 
Her companion did not get up, but there was a 
flame kindling in her face. 

Tom was fifing. His eyes were drooping, but 
a light from them flashed down as if from coals of 
fire. He was thoroughly absorbed in the music. 
He forgot all about Tom Parker. He was not 
thinking of his relation to the army as a soldier. 
He was not thinking of his fellow-soldier, Cy- 
He heard just the music he was making, and 
thought onH of that and it thrilled him. It 
seemed as if he had turned into the instrument 
he was handling, and all thought, will power, 
being, as well as breath, went that way. 

“ I should never know Tom, but I could tell 
that Cy anywhere,” said Miriam. 

Cy could never lose sight of the fact that he 
was a drummer in the American army, an office 
he had recently obtained, and an oflice to be dis- 
charged at Tom’s side. Cy made his drumsticks 
rattle with energy all over the drumhead. His 
eyes protruded in astonishment at his own skill. 
He grinned in his satisfaction from ear to ear. 
Whenever he thought any one might be looking 
at him, he drummed with new, fierce energy, 


A JVAGON IN CAMP. 


225 


threatening to pound in every inch of drumhead. 
In this proud self-consciousness, he marched and 
drummed, “ I am Cy Tucker, the only drummer 
in the American army.” 

‘‘ I should never know Tom,” said Miriam again, 
“but Cy, I could tell anywhere.” 

“ Tom does look like another being,” replied 
her companion. “ It is wonderful to see that this 
war is making really a new being of him. I 
have heard his grandmother say that inside every 
one of us was beautiful music, but it takes some- 
thing unusual to bring it out of us. Sorrow or joy, 
an accident, an emergency, may bring it out, and 
in some people, she said, it would not come out 
until they get into another and better world. 
Something in every one, she said, that will come 
out — something beautiful.” 

“ Ha-ha, the music is coming out now ! And 
this time too it is a royal manhood,” said Miriam, 
“ a patriot’s manhood.” 

“ There is a good deal of it in this neighbor- 
hood,” remarked Miriam’s companion. 

“ But don’t you feel the most interest in Tom’s 
showing, my dear ? ” 

Ho reply was made save that of a blush. 

Just then there was much military stir in 
the neighborhood. Soldiers were tramping here 
and there. Officers on horseback were dashing 
about. Wagons, civic and military, were rattling 


226 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

round. Tom’s company marched into the college 
yard, and promptly halted and broke ranks. 

Tom and Cy rushed off to their room, but soon 
reappeared. No drum and fife now. Cy had a 
frying-pan in one hand, and a dipper in the other. 
Tom had a teakettle and a pan of meal decorated 
with a piece of pork. There was more apparatus 
than dinner. 

“ You see, Cy,” remarked Tom, ‘‘we have got 
down to our last piece of pork, and this is the 
only meal we have, and I don’t know how many 
pennies you have in your pocket to buy anything 
with ” 

“No money there to-day, and no rations! 
Soon coming, I hope.” 

“We will enjoy what we have. We will go over 
to that grove and start a fire and fry some pork 
anyway, and I’ve a quarter of a loaf of bread in 
my pocket. Hullo — who are in that wagon ? ” 

“ That is — oh my ! Miriam Spring ” 

“And the other — why it can’t be?” 

“ I don’t know who that tother gal is, but I 
know Miriam Spring — hullo, Miriam 1 ” 

“Good-morning, Cy, Tom? You glad to see 
us?” 

“ Yes, — indeed ” — said Tom — “ and — and ” 

He was looking in surprise and open pleasure 
and admiration at Miriam’s wagon-mate who 
was saying, 


A WAGON IN CA3IF. 


227 


“ And you don’t know me, sir, Thomas 
Parker ? ” 

“ Faith, it isn’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, it is.” 

“I am rejoiced,” said the fifer, in subdued 
tones. 

Miriam’s horse was uneasy, and she was crying, 
“ Whoa, there, whoa ! Now, where do you want 
these supplies for starving patriots ? And then 
don’t you Avant us to cook you a dinner?” 

“ Hoo — ror ! ” shouted Cy. “ You drive up to 
old Stoughton — I’ll show the way — and I’ll take 
the supplies into the room Tom and me have, 
and, Tom, you and she” — he nodded toward 
Faith — “ go over to the woods and start the fire, 
and then we’ll bring the boss round and suthin’ 
to eat, and the boss can nibble some of that grass 
over thar. Start up your boss, Miriam ! ” 

“Yery well, general!” said the obedient 
Tom. “ You may mark out the campaign — and 
I’ll — I’ll — build the fire.” 

He was glad enough to go with Faith. It Avas 
a lovely day. A wind from the northAvest tem- 
pered the heat of summer, and its Avings that 
beat above the soldiers’ camp, bore along the 
sAveet notes of twittering birds. The sky was of 
a royal blue, hardly one banner of cloud accom- 
panying the march of the Avind. 

Tom sauntered along, frying-pan, pork, and 


228 


FIFE R- BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


meal in hand, while Faith demurely kept him 
company, carrying a pan of potatoes. 

“ Faith, this is one of the greatest surprises in 
the world. How did you get here ? ” 

“ I came from Miriam’s.’^ 

“ But how did you get there ? ” 

“ I walked there. Are you glad to see me ? ” 

“ Glad ? Of course I am,” said Tom, his 
flushed face and kindling eyes giving emphasis to 
his words. 

It was Tom’s turn now ; “ And are you glad 
to see Tom ? ” Faith nodded her head, dropping 
her eyes. He was searching her face with his 
eager look, but she would not lift that veil of 
her eyelids. 

“ Are you ? ” asked the persistent Tom. 

“ Yes,” was her half- whisper, as it sounded to 
Tom. The reply might have been louder, but a 
bird just then chirped from a near bough. Tom 
did not think its note half as musical as the 
“yes” with whose soft cadence the bird had 
interfered. Tom would have driven the inter- 
ference away, but Faith, who had been on ex- 
amination long enough, quickly called out, 
“ Where do you get your dinner, for you know 
that Miriam and I are going to cook it for 
you ? ” 

“Oh ! ” said Tom, reluctantly, wishing to defer 
preparations for dinner until he had heard Faith 


A WAGON IN CA3IF. 


229 


give a louder “yes,” sweet though the first had 
been ; “ oh, we build our camp fire there under 
that tree. We got breakfast there, this morn- 
ing.” 

Two stakes, forked at the top, had been driven 
into the ground. From one to the other, went a 
stout oaken stick. A heap of ashes below bore 
silent witness to the breakfast fire. 

Tom was picking up a handful of dry twigs, 
while Faith was opening a tinder-box Cy had 
given her, and extracting some charred linen, 
also a steel and flint. Faith skilfully struck out 
from the .flint a shower of bright, golden sparks 
that fell upon and ignited the tinder. This 
coaxed Tom’s dry twigs into a blaze. 

While Tom was looking about, searching for 
wood of a large growth. Faith was paring pota- 
toes for the dinner. At intervals in the prepara- 
tions and before the arrival of Miriam and Cy, 
this conversation was in progress. 

“ Do tell us. Faith, why you came out here, 
and how you got out of Boston, and about grand- 
mother and grandfather.” 

“ Grandmother is pretty well, but grandfather 
is not very well.” 

The omission of “ your,” the inference that he 
and Faith had common grandparents, pleased 
Tom. 

“ Is he very sick. Faith ? ” 


230 


FJ FEE-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


“ Oh, no, but he keeps having little spells of 
taking cold, and his rheumatism troubles him.” 

“ Does he have any work ? ” 

“Just a little at times, though he might have 
more if he would work for British officers and 
soldiers. But the times are very bad anyway, 
Tom. So many of our people have gone, and 
those left are so poor ! Such a stricken, smitten 
city as ours ! ” ' 

“ I suppose so. But how could the folks spare 
you ? How could your grandmother ? ” 

“ My grandmother is dead, Tom.” 

“ Your grandmother dead ? ” 

“Yes, and we are all making one home to- 
gether, your folks and I. What I brought with 
me though, food and money, won’t last much 
longer, and as your Uncle Thad Spring was 

owing your grandfather some money Oh, 

didn’t you know it ? You look surprised.” 

“Ho, I did not know it, but I know Uncle 
Thad. Go on ! ” 

“ He owed your grandfather some money, 
and you don’t know how much he needs it,” 
said Faith, “and he thought that perhaps 
some of it could be paid over, and that would 
help ever so much ; and I said I would try to 
get it.” 

“You? What a girl! How did you bring 
that about ? How could you get here ? ” 


A WAGON IN CAMP. 


231 


“1 will tell you, Tom. I have a friend — 
or ” 

Was Faith blushing? 

“ Or — or he says he is a friend, and he belongs 
to the British army, and he is some kind of an 
officer — not a high one — and ” 

What? Complicity with the oppressors of 
his country ? Toni’s patriotism was grieved. 
He did not show it though after one intent look 
at Faith. He was jealous too. Neither did he 
give sign of that at first. He dropped his eyes, 
and in a tone of cold unconcern, asked, 

“ What is his name ? ” 

‘‘Joseph — something — I — I don’t know what 
— yes I know, but it has gone from me — you 
know how that is — it will come to me.” 

“Joseph something!” said Tom, sarcastically. 
“ That is a very interesting name. How does 
this officer in the tyrant army look ? ” 

“Now, Tom, you need not ask me so many 
questions, and in that way. I don’t fancy him, 
though he has said many fine things to me. 
This tyrant can’t bite you. You want to know 
how he looks ? ” 

“ Why, how this fire acts ! Can’t cook by it ! ” 
exclaimed Tom, as if that fire or its failure were 
the only great matter in the world. 

“ The fire acts well, Tom, but you know you 
spilled some water on it.” 


232 FIFEB-BOY OF TMF BOSTON SIEGF. 

“ Did I ? I won’t spill any more. Er — er — 
how does that man look ? ” 

“ Well, he is rather dark. Oh — he is quite tall 
— I — I don’t like his eyes — they are big and go 
through you when he wakes up.” 

“ There ! I wonder if it is the same villain that 

almost killed Cy and me in June at the fight ” 

“ He did ? I know he got some scratches at 
Bunker Hill. He showed them to ^ur grand- 
mother, and she — did them up ” 

“What? my grandmother? I don’t know 
but I wish I had poked him harder with my 
bayonet ” 

“ Why, Thomas, you don’t wish so ! The 
Bible says forgive your enemies ! ” 

“Well, I suppose I must say so when I am 
with you. Oh, dear. Faith ! This fire will never 
burn ! Y es — there it is agoing ! But tell us about 
that tall chap with the eyes ? I know I’ve seen 
him.” 

“ He got a pass for me, and I was allowed to 

go through the lines ” 

“ On foot ? ” 

“ Certainly, over Boston Heck and round 

through Koxbury ” 

“ And just for the asking ? ” 

“ What, Tom ? ” 

“ I mean, did he do all that just because you 
asked him? Doesn’t he want some of Uncle 


A U^AGON IN (^aMP. 


m 


Spring’s money — the scamp! I wouldn’t trust 
those eyes. Uncle Thad Spring has a big farm 
a mile away from Miriam’s, and he has some 
money and — what was I saying ? ” 

Faith hesitated. Should she tell everything ? 
She looked up and away as if reasoning with a 
party unseen and objecting to her proposed ex- 
planation. 

“ Yes, I think I had better tell you all. There 

is no secrecy about it ” 

‘‘ I should hope not,” remarked Tom, nervously 
fluttering about the fire. 

Faith kept her temper, and quietly said : “ All 
he wanted me to do, he said, was to tell people 
that Graham — there, I have lost the other part 
of his name — but somebody Graham or Graham 

somebody Oh dear, I ought not to forget 

it ” 

‘‘ Say on 1 ” said Tom, clutching with both 
hands a dead bough he was about to break 
across his knee. 

“ To say that this Graham is a bad man, and 
if I saw a Joab Amsden — I remember his name— 

to say that this Graham was a spy and ” 

“ Hold ! ” said Tom, flinging the wood on the 
ground. “ I am getting so full 1 can hardly hold 

myself in. If big eyes mean ” He paused. 

‘‘ Do you know, Faith, who Joab Amsden is ? ” 
Faith laid her hand on Tom’s arm. ‘‘Tom, 


234 FI FEB- BOY OF THE BOSTON SlKOi^. 

Tom ! I don’t know who Joab Amsden is, or 
who Graham is. I said, ‘ no.’ I told the man I 
would not slander any stranger. Never will I 
slander anybody. 1 will not say a word against 
a man I don’t know. I said he must get the pass 
without any such conditions, and he did, and I 
came, wanting to help on your, your grandfather, 
grandmother, Tom ” 

That hand on Tom’s arm affected him much as 
a spirited, prancing horse feels the quieting hand 
of his master. 

“ Forgive me. Faith ! I admire what you 
did.” 

“ I don’t have anything to forgive, dear Tom. 
You are not the one who needs forgiveness, for 
all was meant well enough. When I went to 
your Aunt Nabby Spring’s, and they spoke about 
one Graham, then I heard about the handsome 
British soldier that had been there — and he has 
the same name, you know — and it has stirred up 
Aunt Spring because Miriam and the British 
soldier are lovers. All sorts of stories are going 
round, and Aunt Spring says if he is not just 
right, they can’t be married — and — so on. I said 
not a word, Tom, about anything I had heard in 
Boston.” 

“ Where is he ? ” 

“ I don’t know. He went off into the woods 
or somewhere for safe keeping — and to think 


A li^AGON IN CA3lP. 23S 

Joab Ainsden — to whom I was to give the mes- 
sage — should have tried to arrest that Graham 
there this past summer ” 

“He did?’’ 

“ Yes — and it made me feel very wretched — 
but Miriam has been an angel. She says her 
Graham is not a s})y, she knows. She says it is 
enough that Joab Amsden hates him, and she is 
going to love him. She has been very kind to 
me. One woman I met was not kind. She 
looked at me with suspicious eyes, and said 
she believed I had a hidden errand, and of 
course I denied it and told her she was very 
unjust.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Tom, going promptly to 
Faith’s side in the attack made upon her. “ She 
was very mean.” 

“ And I got the money I ” said Faith trium- 
phantly. She here placed her hands upon her 
waist and smiled. 

“ You — you carry it there. Faith ? ” 

She smiled assent. 

“ I am proud of you. Faith.” 

“ Oh — oh it comes to me, Tom ! ” 

“ What comes ? ” 

“His name, Tom; Joseph Chapman.” 

“ Let that go ! ” said Tom, frowning jealously. 
“ He is not worth noticing or remembering. And 
whatever ‘ Graham ’ he means, our Graham is a 


^.16 PiP£R-Sot OP T^E BOSTOP^ SlEOE. 

fine fellow, and he loves Miriam. Yes, he is a 
grand man, and you — you — I am proud of 
you ! ” 

Her eyes, full of tears, sparkled now in the 
happy smiles playing across them like sunlight. 
Her face, so full of trust and love, was irresist- 
ible, and he bent toward her and kissed her. 

“ Hullo ! ” rang out a voice. “ How is that 
fire?’’ 

Tom quickly turned in season to catch a sight 
of Cy struggling into the grove, carrying a pail 
of milk with one hand, and with the other press- 
ing to his breast half-a-dozen ears of corn. 

“ Them young folks are purty close,” thought 
the observant Cy. “ How is that fire ! ” he 
asked. 

It was all out ! 

“ This — f-fire is the p-peskiest f-fire, Cy ! ” said 
Tom, confusedly, bending down to the neglected 
ash-heap. 

Miriam was kind enough to arrive just then, 
bringing ripe red apples, more corn, bread, butter, 
and a bottle of preserved strawberries. Her face 
was bright, enthusiastic and defiant, as if she 
knew Tom and Faith had referred to her and 
Graham, and while she knew these two young 
folks were loyal, yet she was aware that slander- 
ous stories had been circulated about Graham, 
and if Tom and Faith were disproving one of 


A iVAGOI^ IN CAMP. 


23t 


these, she could also disprove and deny, and she 
did not care a snap of her pretty fingers for any 
slander. She dropped her load, lifted her hands 
to her rich folds of hair, and pressed it all back 
from her forehead. She laughed. She showed 
all her white teeth in laughing joyously. She 
affirmed that this was the happiest, best day of 
her life. 

“ I am going to be a soldier in the American 
army under George Washington, Faith. No, 
first, I will help to get dinner for these soldiers.” 

And a great dinner it was, when Tom’s re- 
kindled fire had done all its duty. 

“ Only want some tea to make us happy ! ” 
said Cy. 

‘‘ No ! Patriots can only have pennyroyal or 
thorough wort tea,” Miriam told him. “ Shall I 
make you some ? ” And each patriot said, 
“ Bah ! ” 

At that dinner there were slices of potatoes 
marvelously fried in pork, crisp, yellowish-brown, 
roasted ears of corn, baked apples and creamy 
milk, toast not smoked and lukewarm, but 
browned delicately, hot, and crimson preserves. 
It was pronounced by Cy “good enough for 
King George’s tables, and much better than ever 
he deserved.” 

Then the little party broke up. The green 
woods, the sunlight dropping coins of gold amid 


238 FiFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGN. 

the foliage, the last sputtering red embers, wer6 
all left behind. Miriam and Faith went to their 
wagon. 

“Oh, Faith,” asked Tom, “how do you get 

back to Boston ? I wish 1 could ” 

“ No, you must not think of it. Miriam, my 
good angel, takes me in the wagon to Koxbury. 
There I expect to get a pass of an American 

officer your grandfather knows ” 

“ Oh dear, what a woman of power — I am 
only a lifer boy.” 

“ No, if you wanted to get passes, you could 
do better than I. Now, dear Tom, I must go, 
though I hate to. God bless you, dear Tom. 

Good — good-bye ” 

“ Oh Faith — I — would ” 

“ What is it, Tom ? ” 

“ I have something I want to tell you.” 

“ Go, Faith ! ” commanded Miriam. 

“I will obey my — mistress ” 

It was to the other side of the rugged fence 
that two big trees made with their trunks, that 
Faith and Tom retreated. 

“ There, Faith, I would like to give you some- 
thing to remember me by, and this is all I have.” 
It was his old fife. “ You know, Faith, I have a 
new one.” 

“ I am proud to have it, and— ^oh haven’t I 
something for you ? ” She thrust her hand im- 


A IVAGO^ IN CAMP. 


239 


pulsively into a dress-pocket. She pulled out a 
book and a pencil. 

“ Take these, dear Tom ! ” 

When she joined Miriam, her face was very 
much flushed and happy in spite of tears that 
made her eyes like shining crystals. 

“Taith, why didn’t you stay longer — I could 
have Avaited.” 

“ Oh, we had time to exchange some things.” 
With Faith’s answer, came a look that was both 
happier and sadder, for would she ever see this 
big army boy again ? 

Tom watched the two occupants of the wagon 
as long as his eyes could make out anything. 
Two crows Avere circling in the air. “ The 
black things ! ” murmured Tom. 

These sable aeronauts hovered about Faith’s 
head and then Miriam’s, as if threatening to 
swoop down upon them and bear them off. 
“ One crow is that Joseph Chapman, and the 
other is Joab Amsden. I would like to shoot 
them — the croAvs. They shan’t have either. 
Poor Faith ! And Joab shan’t have Miriam. 
I — I would like to Avill to Faith look round and — I 
will,” said Tom, pressing together his lips, a resi- 
dence — one at least — of the human Avill. 

Faith seemed though to have become Per- 
versity, and she showed no disposition to give 
even one backward glance at her admiring flfer. 


240 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


“She shall look!” resolved Tom, setting his 
mouth in a look of still grimmer purpose. 

The spirit of Perversity now vacated the 
wagon, and Faith kindly and trustfully turned 
about and waved a hand at Tom. 

The fifer then tossed up his arms in exultant 
response, and also pitched his cap into the air. 
When the last sign of Faith was out of sight, he 
turned toward his college barracks, slowly, 
thoughtfully walking. 

“I will look at the things Faith gave me,” he 
said. Out of his pocket, he lished -a book. 

“ Why, this is Faith’s prayer-book. I must 
take good care of that. Here is her name on the 
fly leaf. Now I will look at the other thing, a 
silver lead-pencil, and initials on it — a name — 
the letters ‘ J. C.’ Why, that stands for Joseph 
Chapman ! What ? He gave it to her, and she 
gave it by mistake to me 1 ” 

Tom bowed his head and put his hand to his 
heart as if a ball from a gun in the hands of the 
tall, hook-nosed, big-eyed Briton had come flying 
from Boston, then across Charles Eiver and 
through Cambridge to the heart of a poor, for- 
lorn fifer. He walked through the brick Har- 
vard gateway, and between Massachusetts and 
Harvard Halls, past Hollis to Stoughton, still 
holding his head down. He did not see the sol- 
diers loitering in the yard, or gathered round the 


A WAGON IN CA3IP. 


241 


college pump chatting and drinking, but as in a 
dream he walked to Stoughton. He stumbled 
up the worn wooden stairway and staggered into 
a room looking toward the Common. 

“ ‘ J. C. ! ’ ” he murmured. That surely is 
Joseph Chapman ! Why, Faith ! ” 


CHAPTER XXL 


A DECEPTIVE DECOCTION. 

A PUNGENT, rather than a fragrant odor filled 
the kitchen of a farmhouse in the northern part 
of Watertown. Mother Spring was fluttering 
about the old fireplace, keeping up a lively fire 
of pine knots and maple boughs, and also at times 
lifting the lids of various boilers swinging from 
the cranes toward which the flames, as if wings 
of gold, were beating. As she lifted a lid, she 
would slip in an iron spoon, bringing out a sample 
of the fluid within, perhaps smelling it near the 
open window, and then cooling it with her 
breath that she might taste it. This was gener- 
ally done with a wry face. 

If any experienced mothers had come in from 
the neighborhood and approached those pots and 
sampled them, one verdict would have been 
“ pennyry-al,’’ and the second pot would have 
been pronounced, “ thoroughwort — ugh — and 
suthin’ else.” 

No woman came, and not even a man. Mother 
Spring, Tom’s “ Aunt Xabby,” was brewing those 
herbs for a special purpose, and she had chosen 
242 


A DECEPTIVE DECOCTION. 


243 


this particular morning because the men folks 
were off and her daughter Miriam also was away. 
She might succeed but she might not, and she 
wished to conduct her investigation in secret. 

She evidently was not satisfied with the results 
of her boiling, for she began to skip up the back 
stairs. She was compelled to go at a slow rate 
ere she reached the garret, and finally went 
panting toward a row of odoriferous bundles 
hanging from the rafters. 

“ I might try,” she murmured, “ a leetle more 
sage and a — jist a taste — a bit — of thoroughwort 
— here they be ! ” 

Carefully removing two precious bundles, she 
bore them downstairs to the kitchen fireplace. 
In a few minutes she repeated the process of 
spoon-dipping, of cooling and tasting. 

‘‘ I wish,” she said, “ I had some one here to 
tell me what they think of this ’ere. A leetle 
water, I guess, it needs — and some more maple 
sugar — and — a pinch of salt ! ” 

Then she wished it might be a British rather 
than a Yankee taster, but if the second seemed 
less desirable, the first was not practicable, im- 
possible even, then. 

She finally decided to replenish the fire and 
give her decoction a final and furious boil. She 
went out to the wood pile. It was a luxuriant 
October day. The sunshine fell in a soft, warm 


244 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

splendor that harmonized with the rich tints of 
the maples and oaks. 

The luxuriant weather, the richly tinted 
scenery, almost diverted Mother Spring from her 
[)urpose, and she told herself, “ I have half a mind 
when it is so fine a day to take my rags to the 
printer ” 

Benjamin Edes was the printer who edited 
the Boston Gazette., but Boston became a furnace 
for patriotic papers. He was obliged to betake 
himself and his types to a boat and come up the 
Charles Kiver to Watertown. Bags for the 
making of paper or anything else, were very 
scarce, and in his paper he gave a pressing 
invitation to the people to bring in their rags. 
Mother Spring had half a mind to take the 
printer her rags, this day of fine weather. 

“I’ll go though to-morrow,” she concluded, 
bending toward the pile of wood, and was filling 
her arms when she heard a rustling, and out from 
a clump of bushes came — Graham! He was 
dressed as an American farm laborer, and rather 
roughly. It could not take away from his beauty, 
however, and just then it seemed in comparison 
to be increased. Mother Spring, who now and 
then heard echoes of Joab Amsden’s opinion of 
this “ British spy ” flying about the neighbor- 
hood, did not feel ready to favor his suit to her 
daughter Miriam, and, indeed, had positively dis- 


A DECEPTIVE DECOCTION. 


245 


couraged it. In her confusion, her face now red- 
dened as if a handful of maple leaves had been 
suddenly thrown into it. Graham was not 
abashed, and he soon showed that he had lost 
none of his old tact, none of his power of win- 
ning finally the confidence of people. He came 
forward promptly, courteously bowed and hoped 
she was in good health. 

“ Thankee ! Where — where — did you come 
from ? ” 

“ Oh — where I have been staying, but all the 
harvesting is over and I had a little leisure, and 
I am on my way to Watertown to the ’’ 

“ He will stop here ! ’■ thought Mother Spring. 

He will stay till Miriam comes. Ketch him to 
go off ! ” 

She let him talk on. He only added, “ I had — 
better — go now — yes — good-morning.” 

The woman, like everybody else, had a pe- 
culiarity. She herself sometimes suspected it; 
others knew it beyond a doubt. The peculiarity 
was this. She did not like to adopt the sug- 
gestion of another. She took great pride in fol- 
lowing out her own ideas. Those who knew her, 
and in carrying any project desired her cooper- 
ation, contrived it so that it would become her 
project. They would not show any great 
warmth of interest in a subject, and yet somer 
how vYOuld keep it before her, hoping she woul4 


246 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


open the door to it, receive and adopt it, and let 
it go out as her proposition. 

From Miriam, Graham had received a hint 
about this peculiarity, and he now proceeded to 
make use of his information. He strongly desired 
to halt, at least long enough to learn if Miriam 
were in the neighborhood. To get a chance to 
stay, he took the opposite course, and started 
to go. 

“Won’t ye stay and rest yourself?” asked 
Mother Spring. “ It is some distance to Abijah 
Smith’s where you’ve been stopping.” She prided 
herself on her hospitable tendency. 

“ Thank you, marm ! It is very pleasant here, 
and this warm smell coming from the kitchen is 
pleasant.” 

They were now near the back door. Mother 
Spring was vain — or vain just a little. It seemed 
as if she would have died sooner than have con- 
fessed it, but she did like a compliment. 

Then it was a fragrant atmosphere that the 
simmering pots and kettle’s made ? At least, he 
implied that her pennyroyal, thorough wort, sage, 
maple sugar, salt, “obedildoc,” made an agree- 
able odor, did he not ? 

An idea came to her. She had desired a Briv 
ish rather than a Yankee opinion, and she 
wanted the former because more experienced. 
She ran to the cupboard, found a spoon that 


A DECEPflVJ^ DECOCTION. 247 

came from England early in the century, and 
dipping it in the liquid brewed, allowed it to 
cool at the window, and said, Shut your eyes — 
do — that’s a good boy — and give me your candid 
opinion — what this tastes like. I’ve been experi- 
menting all the morning.” 

He promptly, solemnly closed his eyes. His 
face was very placid, but within what a ferment 
of anxiety there was that he might guess right. 
He felt that he must know more, if possibly he 
could get the information. He gasped as for 
breath. 

“ St-stop, madame, a moment ! When are you 
going to use this ? ” 

“ Oh, when I have cump’ny — when the minis- 
ter calls.” 

A smile brightened his features. The wrinkles 
of anxiety beginning to crease his brow, were 
smoothing out. He felt reasonably sure of his 
ground. 

“How let me taste it ! ” 

She administered it liberally, and, as unflinch- 
ing as a Horth American savage, he swallowed 
it. He felt like doing it though it might choke 
him. 

“ What is it ? ” was her challenge. He 
waited a moment that his judgment might seem 
all the more deliberate, and then he boldly men- 
tioned the name of an article tabooed in all 


248 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SlEG^. 

American colonies, “ T — tea — tea ! Tastes like a 
cup I had once in London.’’ 

“ I could kiss you,” Mother Spring could have 
said, but she did not. She only stood and 
smiled radiantly upon him. 

“ Like a cup you had once in London ? ” she 
said in a delighted tone. 

“ In London.” 

This was so, and it was an awful cup. She 
said it again, “ In London ! My ! think of that ! 
You shall have a whole bottleful ! ” she told 
him. 

“May it be a small one!” he moaned in- 
wardly. 

“ Now keep it a secret ! ” 

“ Oh, I will,” he told her, rejoiced to have 
such a hold on her, as a keeper of state secrets 
might reasonably feel that he had. 

“I want to make it a supprise. Yon know 
tea is skurse. Yes, a supprise.” 

“ I will never tell, madame.” 

A surprise I Perhaps she would give the joy 
of this when a roomful might be present. Then 
blowing out the candles save one, she would ad- 
minister trial sips, or blindfolding her company, 
she would keep all her candles burning, and then 
give liberal spoonfuls. Tea, how precious ! 

If Graham, the distrusted one, had known 
how her heart was just then going out to him. 


A DECEPTIVE DECOCTioE.' 249 

he would not have returned to his plan of start- 
ing for Watertown. He had learned that 
Miriam was not at home, and that influenced 
him to make departure for Watertown. 

“ I must be going, madame, but if you have 
anything to be done at Watertown, allow me to 
do it.” 

“ I was almost decided to go myself to take 
some rags to the printing office ” 

“ Allow me ! ” pleaded Graham. 

‘‘ You ? How it will look ! ” 

I shall not hurt the bag, and the bag will 
not hurt me.” 

It was finally settled that Graham might take 
the bag, and off he started. The demand for 
rags far surpassed any chance to supply them. 

This is one sample of a request from the 
printer for rags, appearing during the war of 
the American Revolution : 

“Cash Given for Linen and Cotton and Linen Rags, 
AT THE Printing Office. 

“It is earnestly requested that the fair Daughters of Liberty 
in this extensive Country would not neglect to serve their 
Country, by saving for the paper mill, all linen and cotton and 
linen rags, be they ever so small, as they are equally good for 
the purpose of making paper as those that are larger. A bag 
hung up in one corner of a room would be the means of saving 
many which would be otherwise lost. If the ladies should not 
make a fortune by this piece of economy, they will at least have 
the satisfaction of knowing they are doing an essential service 


250 FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SI^GE. 

to the community, which with ten shillings per pound, the 
price now given for clean white rags, they must be sensible will 
be a sufficient reward. ’ ’ 

Along the road crawling over Meeting-house 
Hill to Watertown Common, Graham took his 
way. He was glad to have the bag, for it 
would protect him if any prying eyes like Joab 
Amsden’s might be turned toward him. His 
clothes from wool, spun on American wheels, 
would help hide him. He had also allowed his 
beard to grow, another shield. Still, he knew 
he was doing a risky thing. The bag on his 
back would make natural a stoop he had as- 
sumed, and would help hide his face as he 
clutched its folds. Over the long, high Meeting- 
house Hill he toiled, and down to the meeting- 
house with its Provincial Congress making the 
hamlet virtually the capital of the common- 
wealth, and the meeting-house was the capitol. 
He assumed a very stooping posture when he 
passed the Common, for grave legislators were 
there, blustering soldiers and curious spectators 
from the neighboring towns. 

“That fellow is very young — for his hair is 
black — to have such a stoop as that,” Graham 
heard one man say. “ His bag can’t make him 
stoop that way.” 

“ Where have I seen that man before ? ” asked 
another. 


A DECEPTIVE DECOCTION. §5i 

“ You can’t see anything of his face,” said the 
first man. “ Can’t tell much about him, anyway.” 

“ That second one has a voice like Joab Ams- 
den,” thought Graham, quickening his steps. He 
wanted to break into a run. He knew this would 
attract attention and sharpen any suspicion felt 
about him. He restrained himself and “ ran ” this 
gauntlet by walking as deliberately as he could. 
It was a very uncomfortable walk. He thought 
any moment he might hear the steps of some one 
running, and then he might feel the hand of a 
Joab Amsden laid upon him. Tormented, but 
trying to walk easily, naturally, he went past 
the Fowle House. A group was before its door, 
for the Congress in the meeting-house had a 
Council that met at the Fowle House. He was 
not molested, and followed the country road 
past the parsonage that had its front door in the 
middle of its southern wall hospitably open as if 
for tired travelers. 

‘‘No,” said Graham, shaking his head, “no 
rest in there ! ” 

He passed the few buildings between the par- 
sonage and the mill, and was glad to catch the 
rumbling of its stones patiently turned by the 
waters of the Charles. The little business street 
of the village was indeed busy, for troops were 
tramping through to Cambridge. The man with 
a bag went the other way, toward the bridge, as 


PIFER-BOY OP TtiP BOSTON StEGP. 

quietly and prudently as possible, keeping his 
aged head well bent. 

In a little building by the river, used as the 
printing office of the Boston Gazette^ he disposed 
of his rags. The man that Graham saw, had a 
kindly air as if willing to answer questions, and 
Graham put one : 

“ I want to find some one that has lived in the 
town a long time and could give me information 
about the families here and in the neighborhood.” 

“ There is a place near the bridge here, where 
the soldiers’ mail comes, and they might tell you 
something there, but I think you need an old 
settler. There goes one now into that store over 
there. You lay hold of him.” 

The “ old settler ” received Graham pleasantly, 
and Graham submitted a question about a Ring 
family to whom a letter had been given Graham 
when in England. He could never find the name 
in the neighborhood of Boston. 

“ May I see your letter ? ” asked the old settler. 

“ Certainly, sir ! ” 

It was examined, a series of “ ahems,” ac- 
companying the examination. Then he returned 
an opinion as well as the letter, and its nature 
was such as to excite the man with the bag and 
send him speedily away. 

He did not care to face again the inspectors 
hanging about the village common, and he did 


A DECEPTIVE DPdOCfloM. 25 ^ 

hot return by way of the meeting-house, but 
leaving the little village at the right, he struck 
across the fields to Meeting-house Hill. 

As he went along, he was busily thinking about 
the old settler’s opinion as to the letter Graham 
had submitted to him. Occasionally, he would 
break out into a chuckle, “ Ha — ha, nice, if it 
could be so ! ” Then he would say, “ Must have 
more evidence.” 

Climbing Meeting-house Hill, he pulled out the 
letter addressed to people in Hew England, 
somewhere in the neighborhood of Boston, peo- 
ple that Graham had tried to find, and he would 
exclaim, “ If, if I could only prove it ! ” 

His view of the widening prospects from the 
crown of the hill was interrupted by the outcry 
‘‘King, King, where can I find people by the 
name of King ? ” 

He traveled on, and his face brightened as he 
said, “ May be so ! The old settler may be right ! ” 

Farther on, his face darkened as he looked up 
and came out of his reverie, saying, “ The old 
settler said I had better look, if everything else 
failed, look at some public records in Boston and 
go over the names. Boston ! How can I get in 
there ? Shut up tight I ” 

He halted. He was thirsty. A near well 
looked hospitable. 

“May I drink at your well?” he said to a 


254 FiFER-^OY OF tHE BOSTON SlEOE. 

woman in the farmyard of which the well was 
a prominent feature. 

“ Oh yes ! ” was the ready answer. It seemed 
to Graham as if he never had found water so 
cool and clear and sweet. 

“ Are you — in the army ? ” asked the woman. 
“ Oh no ! I see ; you haven’t any uniform.” 

Graham was a soldier of a certain army, but 
he kept this knowledge to himself. He thanked 
her and went from the yard. 

“ Every young man ought to be in the army,” 
she called out pleasantly. 

Graham bowed again and went on. 

“That woman does not know I am in one 
army already,” thought Graham. “ If she knew 
she was talking to a British soldier, what would 
she have said ? She would have been very much 
stirred up.” 

Graham, as he traveled on, thought on. At 
last, he stopped and leaned against a stone wall 
that an apple-tree overhung.. 

“That woman stirred me up. Yes, she did! 
What about the stirring ? In the army 1 She 
meant the army outside of Boston, the American. 
Whew 1 It is a warm day for October. In the 
American army, that is what she meant, and — 
and — why not? I have been thinking on this 
subject for months. Of course, if my old com- 
mander catches me, there will be no mercy for 


A DECEPTIVE DECOCTION. 


255 


me ! My position is that of a deserter. I did 
not return to the British ranks when I got well, 
and I am staying away, really a deserter now. 
I can never go back to fight against the Ameri- 
cans ; why not fight with them ? They are right. 
They are contending not for themselves alone, 
but for men in England whose rights are denied 
them. I am fighting for my countrymen then 
when I am fighting for the Americans.” He 
stopped thinking, and with the toe of his boot 
kicked a hole in the green turf. 

In a moment, he murmured : “ What would 

they say at home in England if they heard I had 
become an American soldier ? What they would 
say here, I — don’t know. What would Miriam 
say ? ” 

Ho gripped his bag and waved it as if it were 
a flag. British flag or American flag ? He did 
not say, but tramped on almost fiercely. 


CHAPTEE XXIL 


WHY NOT TRUST HIM ? 

‘‘ What a fool ! ” exclaimed Tom Parker. 

He said this under an elm in the college yard 
at Harvard, a few hours after bidding Faith 
good-bye. He held in his hand Faith’s memen- 
toes, the prayer-book and the silver pencil. 

“ What a fool ! ” he said once more, and as if 
to prove it, he held up the pencil. There was a 
white moon flooding with a great sea of silver 
the yard, the few college buildings, the Common, 
the little village. The light was not strong 
enough to reveal anything marked on the pencil. 
Tom knew though that here were engraved the 
letters “ J. C.” that had inflamed his jealousy as 
if somebody had touched a lighted match to a 
heap of gunpowder. 

“ What a fool ! ” he declared for the third 
time. ‘‘They stand for Faith’s grandmother’s 
maiden name, ‘Jane Carter!’ Faith was in a 
hurry, and gave me what she had, dear girl, and 
did not know she had given me that. Not 
Joseph Chapman, but Jane Carter ! I did not 
trust Faith. What a fool I ” 

256 


WHY NOT TRUST HIM? 


257 


Out in the white moonlight, the tenant of 
Stoughton thought awhile about “ trust.’’ 

“ I did not trust Faith. Trust ! We must trust 
people. What does life amount to unless there 
is trust? Folks in a family must trust one 
another. A husband must trust his wife — I will 
trust mine henceforth ! Soldiers must trust a 
general, and a general must trust his army. 
Trust ! What if you are not trusted ? It makes 
trouble. I was not trusting Faith, and it would 
have made serious trouble if I had not come to 
my senses. There is Miriam, poor girl ! She 
trusts Graham, and that is something other 
people don’t do. Nobody expects Joab Amsden 
to do anything but what he has done, but some 
folks have treated Graham with suspicion when 
it was not deserved. I wonder what he is doing 
and how he is getting along ! And the others, 
what are they doing at Aunt Nabby’s ? If I can 
get a furlough of a day, I will walk up there.” 

The walk did not come off until the day that 
Graham went to Watertown. Before Graham 
returned, Tom had reached the farmhouse of his 
relatives, and there he found a peculiar gather- 
ing under peculiar circumstances. 

Aunt Kezzy, mentioned in the first chapter, 
had come from her home on the northern shore 
of Fresh Pond, and her sister Tildy had come 
with her. They were the sisters of Miriam’s 


258 


FIFE R- BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


father. They were not married, and they lived 
together in the same little house. They were 
about as dissimilar beings as could live together 
agreeably under the same roof. Aunt Kezzy 
was round-faced and cherubic, but Tildy’s face 
was spare and long. Aunt Kezzy’s face was set 
on a body corresponding with it, chubby and tub- 
like. Aunt Tildy was tall and thin. Tildy was 
sure to see a rain coming if a single cloud might 
be in the sky, but Kezzy saw the sun beyond the 
rain. Tildy was very, very prudent in her enter- 
prizes ; Kezzy could hardly be called skittish and 
venturesome, but she could jump some of the 
fences that Tildy set up. Tildy would go 
through a room all cluttered and leave it “ spick 
and span.” Ko matter how orderly the room 
might be, Kezzy would leave it as if a north 
wind had swept through it, brushing things to 
right and left. The two unlike sisters were 
alike in two things, loyalty to the name of 
Spring, and also to the sense of right. In all the 
meeting-house on Watertown Common to which 
the family ark bore them every Sunday, there 
were not two more conscientious souls than 
Kezzy and Tildy Spring. They were flaming 
patriots. It is true that Kezzy, since her inter- 
view with Graham in the first chapter, had a 
feeling of tenderness toward him as an individual, 
but against the interests that his scarlet coat rep- 


WHY NOT TRUST HIM? 


259 


resented, she was as firmly set as a crag of 
Atlantic granite against the sea washing its base. 
Against the humble things which to their 
minds had become great through events, as an 
instance, any drinking of tea, they had taken a 
stand of grim opposition. And now here they 
were, riding up toward Nabby Spring’s side 
door. 

“ Why, Kezzy ! Why, Tildy ! ” cried out 
Nabby, hurrying into the yard when she heard 
the clatter of wagon wheels. “ Glad to see ye ! ” 

The horse was stabled, and the guests were fed 
into the fore room. 

“ Take off your things, gals — now do ! Make 
yourselves to hum!” was Nabby’s cordial invi- 
tation. 

All three were soon at ease, each with a knit- 
ting sheath at the waist. The sheath was made 
of broadcloth bound with silk, and it supported 
the end of one of the needles. Those in humble 
circumstances might use just a corncob, and this 
would stay the needle as firmly as any aristocratic 
apparatus. The needles were worked rapidly, 
the loose one darting forward as nimbly as did 
its owner’s tongue. 

“ How is everybody over at the Pond ? ” in- 
quired Kabb3^ 

“Fair to middlin’,” murmured Kezzy. 

“ What’s left of ’em,” added Tildy. 


260 


FIFER BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


“ Most of folks is down to Cambridge,” said 
Kezzy. “ I tell Tildy we shall have to pick up a 
British deserter— they say they’re round — to do 
farm work.” 

“ Hope none of ’em are round,” was Nabby’s 
comment. 

Kezzy had made her speech about deserters 
with a purpose. She wanted very much to learn 
about that handsome British soldier Miriam liad 
helped bring into health and strength again, and 
Kezzy was ready at the right moment to tell “ a 
story goin’ round about him.” She did not have 
a boldness equal to her curiosity, and she edged 
up to her subject gradually. 

“I don’t suppose, Kabby, we have near as 
many as they have round the meetin’-house.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know, Kezzy.” 

“Why, it stands to reason we don’t. Have 
you seen any round, Nabby ? ” 

“ I may have passed ’em, but they never have 
owned up.” 

Kezzy was not discouraged. Keeping in mind 
the real object of her conversation, and, indeed, 
of her visit that day, she remarked, 

“ Have you seen our Cy and Tom down at Cam- 
bridge? We miss Cy amazin’. He did a lot of 
work for us.” 

“ I haven’t seen ’em lately. They are in the 
barracks at the college.” 


WHY NOT TRUST HIMf 


261 


“I s’pose, Nabby,” said Kezzy, edging once 
more toward the fascinating centre of attack, “ we 
shall have ’em all round us when our army gits 
Boston.” 

“ Have who all round us, Kezzy ? ” 

“ Deserters, spies.” 

“ Deserters, spies ? What ones ? Americans ? 
You know of any ? ” 

‘‘Me? I — I — d-don’t know any.” Kezzy in 
her confusion stammered out this reply, and then 
was silent. She was arguing with herself that 
“heatin’ round the bush” would never do, but 
she^ust go directly into the bush. When Tildy 
had concluded a remark she was making to 
Kabby, Kezzy began once more and moved with 
a boldness whose memory startled her. “ Where 
is that Britisher that was here, Kabby ? ” 

“Here, when?” 

“ Oh, last spring, you know, one day. Then he 
was sick, you know.” 

Nabby was nimble. She was not going to be 
caught in Kezzy’s trap. “ Oh, he — he is better,” a 
fact which Kezzy knew perfectly well. Nabby 
did not purpose to let out her feelings before 
Kezzy, or even tell of Graham’s movements, for 
she pitied him, though she was not ready to 
approve of his relations to Miriam. 

“ Oh, thar ! ” she exclaimed, jumping up, pur- 
posing to run a side track olf from this main sub- 


262 


FI PER- BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


ject, “ I did want to show suthin’ to you. Now 
you must all open your eyes and sliet your 
mouths, — no, shet your eyes and open your 
mouths, and I’ll give you suthin’ to make you 
wise.” 

“How do we know but you’ll drop pizen in 
’em ? ” asked Tildy. 

“No, I won’t.” 

Nabby was now on her way to the kitchen. 
She left a door open, and a warm odor stole into 
the company room. 

“What is that, sister?” inquired Kezzy. 
“ Smells sort of herby.” 

“ I dunno, Kezzy. Hush ! Shet your mouth — 
no, your eyes ! Here she comes ! Maybe it’s 
plum preserves. Nabby is famous for ’em.” 

Humming a favorite psalm tune, Nabby was 
now approaching the two candidates that sat 
side by side, their eyes shut, their mouths open, 
a grin dividing each old, placid face. Nabby 
was lifting a big spoon filled with a dark, brown 
fluid, as a sample of that decoction on which she 
had been working, thinning, stimulating, disguis- 
ing, clarifying, sweetening. 

“Mebbe I’ve biled it too much, Kezzy and 
Tildy,” said Nabby, “and mebbe it’s too thin, 
but you try it. Thar, jest a sip ! jest try it ! ” 

Nabby’s hand failed her, and losing control of 
the spoon, she slipped all its contents into Tildy’s 


Why not trust him? 


263 


wide open mouth, nauseating her and almost 
choking her. 

“ Ovv — ovv ! ” screamed the sputtering, fuming, 
frantic Tildy. 

Up she sprang, and running out into the 
kitchen, flew about in a stage of bewilderment 
and ended her gyrations at the sink. There a 
dipperful of cool spring water greatly relieved 
her sufferings. Nabby looked on aghast. 

Kezzy, who had not been called upon to test 
the unknown liquid, waddled after her unfor- 
tunate sister, and began to pound her vigorously 
on the back. 

“ Spit it up, sister ! ” screamed Kezzy, giving 
still more faithful and heavier pounds. 

“ Lemme ’lone, lemme ’lone ! ” shrieked Tildy. 

In the silence of despair Nabby could only 
look on. She began to feel it might be a just 
retribution for her unwillingness to inform her 
sisters about Graham. She dared not tell them 
for what this decoction was supposed to be a 
substitute. She had been thinning, then thicken- 
ing, lessening or increasing the sweetness, sharp- 
ening or mollifying, and she had hoped the result 
was passable at least. She dared not sa^^ any- 
thing. 

Tildy, though, had no fear ; I should think it 
was deserters’ pizen. They’re round now, I tell 


264 FIFER Bor OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

“Yes, they’re round,” said Kezzy, who saw 
here an opportunity to get the conversation on 
to the track she desired to reach. 

And Nabby welcomed this opportunity to 
drop that disagreeable subject of the drink she 
had brewed. “ What deserters round ? ” she 
promptly asked. 

“ British, of course ! ” said Tildy, sullenly. 

“ Hain’t you heard the story ? ” asked Kezzy, 
who saw her opportunity full in sight. “ Kow I 
don’t want to speak agin one when I’m inclined 
to like him. That Graham I took a likin’ to 
and ” 

“ Why, sister ! ” exclaimed Tildy. “ I’d be 
ashamed of that.” 

“ That’s gone by ! Kow they say he’s suthin’ 
more than a deserter. A deserter, that’s what 
he looked like, for he is stayin’ away from his 
army in Boston, but it’s now suthin’ wuss ; they 
do say he’s a spy ! ” affirmed Kezzy. “ A story 
is goin’ round ! ” 

Tildy was holding up her hands in horror. 

“ Oh ! We hear all sorts of things about him 
fust and last, but what is this? ” inquired Nabby. 
“ Speak it all out, Kezzy ! What story ? ” 

“I wouldn’t repeat it, and I thought you knew 
about it. Cy was here from Cambridge a leetle 
while ago, and told one of the boys in the neigh- 
borhood, and he told another, and so it got to us. 


WHY Nof TktJSf lilMf ^65 

that Graham was a spy, that he was known by 
Joab Amsden and a lot more^ and he was round 
here somewhar, and when he got full of news, 
chock full, he would all of a suddefi clear out and 
go and tell the British. IS’ow fur ye ! 

Kabby said nothing. This corroborated her 
suspicions, and yet after Graham’s service ren- 
dered her that very day, she hardly felt ready 
for any absolute denunciation of the young man. 
Not knowing what to say, she played the part of 
a wise woman, and was dumb. 

“ Some folks think it is a clear case,” said 
Tildy. “ He is a spy out and out. A woman 
sez to-day ” 

That moment a step was heard in the little 
entry outside the kitchen. Tildy hesitated, and 
then, stern as a judge of Homan type, gave her 
verdict ; ‘‘ she sez that Graham is a spy, and it 
will have to stand till it is upset.” 

Won’t you please say that again? ’’said a 
voice. 

All looked up. Tom Parker was there. 

“How he’s grown ! ” thought his Aunt Nabby. 
“ ’Tain’t jest flesh and bone. He has grown in- 
side.” 

It was character that had grown. A sturdy, 
noble manhood was developing within him. 

“ Won’t you please say it once more ? ” Tom 
was asking in very serious tones. 


266 FlFEk-:BOY OP THE BOSTON SIPgP. 

“ I’m not af eared,” said Tildy, who believed in 
daring to do anything right, “I’m not af eared, 
Thomas. A. woman sez to-day that that Gra- 
ham is a spy.” 

“ Aunt Tildy, you have a right to express your 
opinion, and also the opinion of another woman, 
and I have a right to say what I think, and here 
it is ! ” 

He straightened up, threw his head back and 
made this statement : “ Graham Perry — that is 
his full name — is no more a British spy than I 
am, or you are. That is my opinion. What has 
he done to deserve the reputation of being a spy ? 
Do spies persist in staying in one part of the 
country month after month ? They leave very, 
very quick, and they report at headquarters. 
Why has not Graham Perry gone to Boston? 
If he went, he would not be welcomed as a spy 
bringing news, but he would be treated as a de- 
serter and shot. The moment he could crawl 
back after his sickness, he ought to have gone if 
a spy. He did not go. He stayed here, month 
after month. He has told me his views. He 
sympathizes with us. It is too bad to treat a man 
so. Why not trust a man ? We must trust one 
another. Why trust slanderers and tale-bearers ? 
Everything he has done, in our acquaintance 
with him, entitles him to respect. Now let us 
trust him ! ” 


Why not TumT hbi? 267 

Tom’s words were making an impression. 
Tildy meekly said, ‘‘ I didn’t mean nothin’ wrong. 
Cy brought the last story when he was here.” 

“ Did he tell it to you ? ” 

“ ISTo, but somebody else.” 

“ Did that somebody tell you ? ” 

“ Somebody told somebody else.” 

“ And so the story grew. I will tell you about 
Cy. I told him what slander — Faith — you 
remember her — Faith was asked in Boston to cir- 
culate, to tell people that Graham — somebody — . 
was a bad man and to tell Joab Amsden that 
this Graham was a spy. How Joab was known 
in Boston, I don’t know. That is suspicious. 
Faith though would not promise. I told Cy the 
story, and he thought it was a shame to talk 
against our Graham, supposing it were ours. 
Then he said he was going to say a word for 
Graham Perry out here, and I doubt not that he 
did, but his story going through several hands 
must have become changed. JSTo, Graham Perry 
is not a spy, but a good man and worthy of our 
trust.” 

Hush — sh ! ” said Aunt Habby to Tom. 
“ Here he comes ! ” She murmured, “ Poor 
feller ! He had to lug my rags a long way.” 

Graham’s head drooped as if he were tired, but 
the sight of Nabby Spring’s company started 
him up. A new sparkle came into his brilliant 


268 PlFER-BO^ OF 'FUE iiOSfoN SltlGl^. 

eyes, and the color rose to his cheeks. Ho nod- 
ded his head to the ladies, and then he sprang 
toward Tom. 

“ Tom, Tom, how are you ? ” 

“ Graham, I am so glad to see you.” Their 
arms went about one another, and there was a 
look of mutual admiration. 

“ Ah, Tom, old boy, they made a soldier-boy 
of you, and it is very becoming, and, Tom, I 
think I have made up my mind. I am going to 
offer myself as a soldier in the American army. 
Some people don ’t seem to know what I am, but 
they will find out what I mean to do. Yes, I 
want to shake hands as a fellow-soldier ! ” 

Tom’s eyes were full of tears. “ Graham ! ” 
he began to say, as he gripped Graham’s hand. 
He stopped. He spoke again ; “I — I can’t finish 
that speech, but I can play it ! ” 

He whipped out his fife, put it to his lips, and 
began to play the national air. Up jumped the 
women. 

“ Hoo — ror ! ” cried Kezzy. “ Hoo — ror ! ” cried 
Tildy. “ Hoo — ror ! ” Habby Spring was clap- 
ping her hands. 

When the music died away, then Graham spoke 
again. He reported to the owner of the bag that 
he had sold her rags, and he handed her the 
money received for them. Then he pulled a letter 
out of his pocket. 


Why not Trust MiMf 


^69 


Madame ! ” he said to Nabby, “ this letter 
was sent me by my mother, and I want to ask 
some questions.” 

Nabby Spring only nodded her head, but 
Kezzy spoke up boldly for her; “Yes, yes, we 
should be very much pleased to hear the letter.” 

“ Yes, yes!” chimed in Tildy. 

He was not at all abashed by this universal 
interest in his case. “ This letter, as I said, is 
from my mother in the old country. She wanted 
me to hunt up some relatives, and she put the name 
in this letter. However, I will read from the letter 
with your permission, and we will come to it.” 

Again Kezzy said with enthusiasm, “ Yes, yes ! ” 

Tildy gave an echo, “ Yes, yes ! ” 

He began to read. 

“ Got a voice like that orgin I heard down in 
Cambridge, at that Tory English Church,” thought 
Kezzy. 

He certainly was a fine reader. He was quot- 
ing his mother’s words about her relatives in 
Massachusetts province ; “ This relationship is 

not a near one but a distant one, away off. My 
writing is not always plain and so I print the 
name, She says the first name is 

Samuel. There, ladies 1 I have been at work long 
on this problem and I think I spoke about it to 
Tom a long time ago. But no ‘Kings’ have I 
been able to learn about. I have to-day been 


270 


PIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


bothering people down at the Great Bridge, as 
they call it, at Watertown, for I thought I would 
make one more effort, and one man made a sug- 
gestion, that the letter might have been torn off 
just there on the edge where that name Bing is. 
The name Samuel ends that line, this way, 
‘ Samuel.’ Then on the end of the next line is 
‘ Bing,’ which my mother printed to make it 
plain. The man said an ‘ Sp ’ might have been 
torn off — see ! Just before the ‘B,’ an ‘Sp ’ or 
some letter might have been torn off — See ! 
Spring it might have been ! ” 

Three pairs of very eager female eyes were 
bent down to the document, and three hearts 
fluttered almost painfully in their exciting in- 
terest. 

“ It does look as if suthin’ was gone,” declared 
Kezzy. 

“ Yes, yes,” said Tildy. 

Tom looked eagerly. 

“ Suthin’ gone ! ” murmured Nabby, whose 
heart threatened to flutter out of her bosom. 
Graham Perry went on : 

“But there is no Samuel Spring about here, 
supposing it were Spring and not Bing. This 
is a Spring family, but I do not hear of any 
Samuel. There is Saul, your husband — that 
went — home ” 

“ Yes,” 'replied Nabby, “ that is the name my 


WHY NOT TRUST HIM? 


271 


husband went by. We allers said Saul, but he 
was also baptized Sam-wel, Sam-wel Saul ! ” 

Indeed ! That was a hint opening every pair 
of ears straining to catch the next thing. A 
Samuel Spring under that very roof there had 
been ! Every eye widened, while ears were 
strained ! There was also a very anxious flutter- 
ing of the female heart, and Graham’s was about 
as uneasy, while Tom, with an intense interest, 
heard every word that was said. 

Graham now pulled out of his pocket a care- 
fully folded sheet of paper. “There is family 
information my mother put down on this slip, 
and there are names farther back than this gener- 
ation — and — have you got a Bible with family 
names in it? That will prove the matter one 
way or the other.” 

Nab by Spring made such an excited quest for 
the book that she afterward said she did not 
know at the time whether she wus “ luggin’ the 
family Bible or Samwel Johnson’s dictionary.” 
It turned out to be the book that had the Spring 
genealogy in it. 

“ Now let us go back to the generation before 
Samuel’s. You read from your list, and I will 
read from my mother’s. Who before Samuel ? ” 
asked Graham. 

“Jotham!” replied the holder of the family 
Bible. 


272 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


“ Jotham, here ! See ! And tlie next ? ” 

“ Ahaz ! ” 

“ Ahaz is here ! Look ! Compare the two ! ” 
Graham triumphantly laid his list beside that in 
the Bible. 

The next moment there were three old women, 
half crying, half laughing, all at the same time 
trying to get their arms around the late British 
villain, deserter, spy. Tom was in vain trying 
to thrust in a hand of welcome, shouting, “ My 
brother, my brother ! ” 

He could not make any headway against the 
maelstrom of joy circling about Graham, and so 
would send in an oft-repeated shout, “ Welcome ! 
Welcome ! ” 

When the tumult of happiness had subsided. 
Nab by Spring made a speech, said to have given 
her great credit : “ Tildy and Kezzy, I want to 

say before ye, Tom too, this is Miriam’s beau, 
suthin’ I suppose you all knew before, but I was 
opposed to the match. I, liked him^ but I sez I 
did not know him. Now I know him, and if he 
wants Miriam and Miriam wants him, I have not 
the least objection. I give ’em the best blessing 
I can, and sez, ‘Welcome’ !” Here she stepped 
up to Graham, and gave him a kiss which must 
have been sincere if energy were any sign. 

There was no doubt about the heartiness of the 
welcome extended by all. And when Graham 


WHY NOT TRUST HIM? 


273 


said, “ It seems to me as if I had got home,” 
tears came into the eyes of the tender-hearted 
Kezzy. 

That evening, ere the sun set behind the 
maples that burned more and more fiery as if 
only western clouds, in the ample two-seated 
wagon from Fresh Pond, rode Miriam and Gra- 
ham occupying the front seat, while Kezzy and 
Tildy were delighted to sit on the back seat and 
watch everything going on. 

Mother Spring had said she wished she could 
be with them. She would be “ willin’ to walk 
back.” 

Miriam and Graham, quitting the wagon at 
Fresh Pond, were equal to the walk back and a 
still longer one. Mother Spring said she would 
keep a candle for them ‘‘ out in the entry.” Some 
time about midnight, the lovers stole in from 
their Paradise walk, and blew out the candle 
faithfully burning in the little entry. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


IN CHURCH. 

Winter had come to the Valley of the Charles, 
borne by harsh winds from the North. One day 
it must have seemed though to Watertown as if 
a fair wind from the South were blowing, and 
its wings had brought along no less an honored 
guest than the wife of General Washington ! She 
halted at the Fowle House, and as it was at noon, 
the eleventh of December, she must have been in 
ample season for dinner. I doubt not that Mrs. 
Mercy Otis Warren, the Assembly Speaker’s 
wife, entertained her in generous style, though it 
might not have been as stately a fashion as that 
of Mrs. Washington’s arrival. It might well 
have seemed to Watertown as if a sunrise cloud 
had dropped before the door of the Fowle man- 
sion, for Mrs. Washington’s conveyance, pulled 
along by four horses, had colored postilions all 
in scarlet and white liveries, while an escort and 
a guard of honor pranced about in martial style. 
After a halt of two hours, this sunrise cloud 
swept along the Cambridge road, brightning its 
winding and wintry course, and by three o’clock 
274 


IN CHURCH. 


275 


had arrived at the college town. Mrs. Washing- 
ton was a widow when George Washington 
married her, and a son by the previous marriage, 
Mr. John Custis, his wife also, attended Lady 
Washington in this jubilant journey. There 
came with her the wives of a number of army offi- 
cers, so that Cambridge society, always a magnet, 
took on a new attractiveness. 

Near the elm where Washington was recog- 
nized as commander-in-chief of the American 
army, stood Christ Church. Rows of blue stones 
in the village cemetery stretched between the 
meeting-house and that house of the Church of 
England, as if to remind them that though the 
living might break the bonds joining the two, 
the dead would forever unite them in a silent 
and sacred fellowship. The war had scattered 
this congregation of the Church of England, and 
the rector’s heart, his body too, refused to stay 
behind. So the doors of the church were shut, 
and the dust and the flies and probably the bats, 
were in undisputed possession of the building. 
When the war let in a hasty irruption of soldiers 
upon the country town, what to do with this tide, 
became a serious question. Troops must be shel- 
tered, and they were put under every kind of 
available cover. Christ Church became army 
barracks. When finally barracks were obtained 
elsewhere, the church with battered walls and 


276 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


floor, with an organ bespoiled, was once more left 
to itself. The sunshine stole through the bare 
windowpanes and looked pityingly around on 
the desolation everywhere, while occasional 
draughts of the winter wind made their sympa- 
thetic moans. 

But a change was in store for the neglected 
church. Lady Washington looked wishfully to- 
ward it, and desired that services should be held 
there. So it was cleaned and made ready for 
occupancy, and the doors were opened for public 
worship the very last day of the year. 

“ Cy,” said Tom, “ they have opened the church 
over there, and I think I will go.” 

“ You be goin’ ? You a Tory ? ” 

“ Oh no, I’m a fifer in the American army.” . 

‘‘ Wall, wall ! ” 

“ Is General Washington a Tory because he 
goes ? That is his church, and down South, in 
Philadelphia, in Virginia, some of the best 
people and true Sons of Liberty are of that 
church.” 

“Wall, good luck! I guess I’ll stay to hum 
and meditate. That is what I will do.” 

Cy was fond of such heavy tasking of his 
spiritual nature on Sunday. 

Tom did not say it aloud, but he told himself 
that Faith would be glad to have him go. 

^‘Yes,” thought Tom, “I will take Faith’s 


IN CHURCH. 


277 


prayer-book with me. She did not think when 
she gave it to me, that I would use it this 
way.” 

The last day of the year when Tom started to 
go to Christ Church, the prayer-book did not 
start with him. Only the afternoon previous, 
when Tom was absent on the hunt for wood, a 
stranger came to Tom’s room in which he had 
left Cy, and asked to borrow Tom’s prayer-book. 
His request was granted. Cy reported the matter 
to Tom when he came back, his arms loaded with 
fragments of oak boughs. 

“ Tom, while you were gone, a feller came in 
and wanted to borrer your prayer-book. He 
said, ‘ I’ll see that the owner gits it agin. 
’T would be a great favor to lend it,’ and so on. 
Wall, I know your disposition to do all the good 
you can, and now that you’re goin’ to belong to 
that church, I knew you wanted to have people 

know about it — and ” 

You did not lend it ? ” 

<< Why, yes ! He said he would see that the 
owner gits it agin. He will bring it back.” 

‘‘ It is not mine.” 

“ ’Tain’t yourn ? ” 

Why no ! It is Faith’s.” 

‘‘You don’t say! Whew — ew — ew I But 
you’ll git it agin. He said he would git it to 
the owner.” 


278 FI PER BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

“ But I’m not the owner,” mused Tom. “ If he 
does as he says, he will get it to Faith, and Faith 
is the last person he knows probably.” He broke 
out, “ What kind of a looking person was the man 
so anxious to borrow ? ” 

“ Oh, I dunno ” 

“ Was he like a soldier ? ” 

“ He was not dressed like one.” 

“ Like a farmer ? ” 

‘‘ Mebbe, but I don’t seem to remember.” 

‘‘ It is strange, Cy, you didn’t notice who it 
was, and can’t tell how he looked, hoAv he was 
dressed.” 

“Wall, he was gone in a moment. Fact is, I 
found him here, and he seemed to be lookin’ 
round, and he sez, ‘ Your mate ain’t round ? ’ and 
I sez, ‘Ho, he ain’t.’ ‘ I want,’ sez he, ‘ to borrer 
his prayer-book. I’ll see that the owner gits it 
agin,’ ‘Wall,’ sez I, and ’fore I knowed it, if he 
hadn’t sailed out of the room ! Gone like a 
flash ! He turned his face away when he spoke, 
and he was through in a moment and off he 
walked. Of course, the prayer-book was with 
him. I’m dreadful sorry, Tom.” 

“ Oh, you did what you thought was best. 
Perhaps the man will bring it back to-morrow in 
time for church.” 

Ho one came back with a prayer-book, and 
toward the appointed hour, Tom stepped off with 


In church. 


279 


a matter-of-course air, as if he had been accus- 
tomed to attend Christ Church all his days. The 
honored building still stands, and must look to- 
day substantially as it did then, though the color 
may be different. Its nave, a plain, oblong struc- 
ture of wood, is prefaced by a tower of wood 
on which rests the big box belfry. A gilt cross 
to-day surmounts the belfry tower. The windows 
are long and arched, a round arch surmounting 
each. When the windows in the body of the 
church may be counted, the number will be found 
to be seven. ‘ This may have been a freak of 
symbolism on the part of the architect, seven 
being one of the perfect numbers of the Bible. 
It may have been though an accident. Things 
that at first have a sacred significance sometimes 
rest upon no firmer foundation than a chance use 
of words, not an intended one. Tom was early, 
and waiting for worship, he gave himself to an 
inspection of the building. 

“Looks hard used,” thought Tom. “That 
organ has had no easy time. I have heard about 
it, that when they wanted lead for ammunition 
for our army, they took the organ pipes and 
melted them up. Ah, there is General Washing- 
ton ! Lady Washington too ! What a fine-look- 
ing couple ! ” 

Washington’s commanding figure passed on, 
and Lady Washington went with him. The 


280 fifer-i^oY of the BORTOJ^ SIEG^, 

congregation was not large, but the military 
element, including several officers’ families, gave 
it distinction. The old congregation had been 
aristocratic, but the noise of the nearing cannon 
had frightened the fine feathers away. 

History says that at the request of Mrs. Wash- 
ington, Colonel William Palfrey read the service. 
So it all comes before me in thought, the scarred 
walls, the mutilated organ, the round-arched 
windows, General Washington with his fine, 
imposing personality. Lady Washington with 
her gracious manners, the officers in their uni- 
form, and an outside but small circle of wor- 
shipers, including the young fifer. 

Perhaps General Washington sat, that very 
service, where in our day it is with pride said 
that he worshiped while in Cambridge. We see 
him in that particular work, and not far away is a 
young soldier watching him with tireless interest. 
Though a stranger to the service, Tom managed 
to appear as one familiar with it. He did what 
the general did, rising, sitting down, rising again. 
He was only the general’s shadow thrown over 
into another pew. 

The military chieftain’s shadow began to be 
self-gratulatory. ‘‘ I am as good at the service as 
the general himself,” said the shadow. Suddenly 
a voice within startled his conceit, “ Ho, you go 
through the motions, but you don’t do the thing 


M CtiURcH. 


281 


itself. You bow, but you don’t really pray. 
Yours is machine work.” 

The shadow was almost frightened. Things 
impress us at times with peculiar force. Why, 
we cannot say. This rebuke sank deep into 
Tom’s soul, and it was heavy too and kept him 
down in his seat. Now when the general rose, 
there was no obedient shadow in a near pew. 
Tom was lonely. He felt in his pocket for 
Faith’s prayer-book — ah, that was gone! There 
was an intense solitude in that old-fashioned pew 
where Tom sat. He looked down on the seat 
that he occupied. He was thankful for the so- 
ciety of a prayer-book, though not Faith’s. He 
took it up and began to read where it chanced to 
open, though thereby he failed to follow the 
movements of General Washington who was ris- 
ing again. The chieftain’s shadow was reading 
this verse from the Psalter : “ Commit thy way 

unto the Lord and put thy trust in Him, and He 
shall bring it to pass.” 

When the general bowed in prayer, Tom only 
stared down at the prayer-book. He lost thereby 
a very singular prayer offered that day. In this 
petition, to which former worshipers had been 
entire strangers, the Heavenly Father was 
besought to look down with mercy upon his 
majesty, George the Third. “ Open his eyes ! ” 
pleaded the prayer, “and enlighten his under- 


§82 FIFER BOY Op fuk BOS^O^ SIEGE. 

standing that he may pursue the true interest of 
the people over whom Thou in ThyProvidence 
hast placed him. Kemove far from him all wicked, 
corrupt men and evil counsellors that his throne 
may be established in justice and righteousness.” 
This same earnest pleading remembered Congress. 
God was besought “to bless the Continental 
Congress,” and to “ preside over their councils.” 
God was asked to “be with Thy servant, the 
Commander-in-Chief of the American forces.” 
Finally God was asked to restore the suppliants 
to “ the enjoyment of those inestimable blessings 
we have been deprived of by the devices of cruel 
and bloodthirsty men, for the sake of Thy Son, 
Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” 

It was only a prayer, but it was like a little 
vane telling of a change in the wind, and a wide- 
spread one, reaching all through the land. 

Tom heard not this novel prayer which had 
never seen the inside of a service-book. Tom 
was thinking about that, verse in the psalter he 
had read. “ And put thy trust in Him,” sang 
this Hebrew psalm. It went on, like a bird 
making a low, sweet, plaintive, urgent music in 
Tom’s soul. 

“ Why shouldn’t I pray ? ” thought Tom. 
“ Why don’t I do as the Psalm says, ‘ trust ’ ? A 
soldier not knowing what is ahead, needs to do 
it. ‘ Commit thy way unto the Lord,’ it says. 


In ckuRCH. 


283 


A soldier’s way needs to be committed, but oh, I 
need — what do I need ? ” He was in a strange 
unrest. 

Still, the bird in his soul sang on, “ And put 
thy trust in Him.” 

At Watertown, he told them in the farmhouse, 
that people must exercise trust in one another. 
Ought not Tom Parker to trust his Heavenly 
Father ? 

The service was near its completion. He did 
not look round to see what his general was 
doing. He, the shadow, was motionless. He 
was staring down into the depths of the old- 
fashioned pew. 

People were passing out. The general and all 
his train were going. Somebody was lingering in 
his pew, hanging his head and staring intently 
before him. 

“ Asleep ? ” somebody going out asked, in a 
tone of sympathy, tapping Tom on the shoulder. 

“ Anything but that,” murmured Tom. 

Eising up, he left the church. He did not 
though leave behind him the subject that out of 
the Psalter had flown down into his heart and, 
bird-like, was singing there. 

Tom kept on thinking. Cy noticed Tom’s ab- 
straction when he came into barracks. 

“ Whar are ye, Tom ? Still as a mouse ! What 
ye up to ? ” 


284 PIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIFgB. 

“ Thinking ; that’s all, Cy.” 

“ Is he losing his mind ? ” wondered Cy. 

Ho, Tom was getting control of it. Ho man 
has himself till God has him. 

Tom went to bed thinking. He fell asleep 
only to awake in the middle of the night. It 
was very still around Cambridge Common. Into 
this stillness rolled an army wagon on its way to 
Eoxbury, making an ugly jargon, but it rolled 
through the stillness and out of it, and all was 
quiet again. Then the bird began to sing in 
Tom’s soul, ‘‘ And put thy trust in Him.” 

“ I’m not worthy,” thought Tom. Then it 
seemed as if down into the darkness and the 
stillness, heaven was let, and its brightness and 
pity came all about a poor penitent who had 
risen and was now kneeling on the floor. God 
took the hand that in trust was held up to Him. 


CHAPTEK XXir, 


FAITH IN THE SIEGE. 

Winter in Boston wore slowly away. It was 
severe at the start. Its beginning was like the 
sting of an icicle with the point of a thorn. It 
was sharp, piercing. Barracks were planned on 
Bunker Hill for the British soldiers who were 
there, but while in tents, ere the winter quarters 
could be used, white, gusty snowstorms smote 
their frail quarters. In Boston also, the troops 
felt the prick of the weather. They were under 
roof finally, some of them finding, taking shelter 
rather, in the meeting-houses. They did not have 
a large heap of stores, and wood was scarce. The 
smallpox began to ply its scourge, and this made 
a new horror. And yet it had a compensating 
side for the British, whose commander looked 
upon the disease as a protection against an as- 
sault by the Americans. Smallpox became a 
novel weapon of defence. 

Boston had the look of a military post. On 
Beacon Hill, boomed the morning and the even- 
ing gun. On the hills and in the open spaces of 
the town, surly cannon were planted ready to 

285 


286 FlFER-BOY OP THE BOSTOP SIEGP. 

growl and roar any moment. In the streets was 
heard the tramp of the British soldiery. The 
troops needed wood very much. They began to 
tear down houses and fences on their own re- 
sponsibility, a free handed method that General 
Howe, the British commander, did not approve of. 

Many of the inhabitants had moved away, and 
what a scene the left-behinds witnessed ! It was 
a multilated, impoverished city through whose 
streets stalked Winter and War. From their 
crooked streets, the survivors looked anxiously 
out into the country, but could see no sign of re- 
lief from the besieging Americans. Measures 
of relief had been discussed by them, but none 
adopted. 

It had been a great task to organize an army, 
and especially difficult to mass and shape and 
bring into effective form through discipline, ele- 
ments like those of a vigorous democracy and 
rugged independence in the American camp. 
Washington in September had an army, but 
where were its clothes, wood, food, shelter, pow- 
der, artillery? Where too was the money to 
pay off the soldiers ? There was much grumbling 
among them. All of them save the riflemen ex- 
pected in December to be disbanded. 

That autumn the Americans marching north 
carried a victorious flag to Montreal. A plucky 
expedition worrying its way, that same autumn. 


FAITH IN THE SIEGE. 287 

through the Maine woods into Canada, united 
with the force from Montreal and made a daring 
attack upon Quebec. The footprints left behind 
in the snows of winter were not those of victors 
but the vanquished. This wintry ill-success had a 
chilling effect on the Americans. When a new 
army was enlisted, that they might be sure of 
arms, they were requested to bring them from 
home. That they might have blankets, each 
New England household was asked by Washing- 
ton to furnish one or more, and did the Yankee 
mothers hesitate to strip their beds ? Not at all. 
That the soldiers might have wood to keep them 
warm and cook their food, the New England 
hamlets in town meeting voted supplies. Con- 
gress was patriotic but poor, and had very little 
money to invest in an army. Washington was 
forced to get along as best he could. Although 
there were troops who persisted in going home 
at the end of their enlistment in December, brave 
recruits came for ward' from New Hampshire, Mass- 
achusetts and Connecticut, and by degrees Wash- 
ington saw a new army clustered about him. 
How poorly equipped it was ! 

When he received an order from a fault-find- 
ing, impatient Congress to attack Boston though 
he might leave it a ruin, he made a plain state- 
ment of his situation : “ It is not perhaps in the 

pages of history to furnish a case like ours, to 


288 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


maintain a post within musket-shot of the enemy 
for six months together without powder, and at 
the same time to disband one army and recruit 
another within that distance of twenty odd regi- 
ments, is more, probably, than ever was at- 
tempted/’ 

In February, winter laid a floor of ice across 
the bay west of Boston, and how near the 
town seemed! The coveted prize was close at 
hand, almost within grasp. The sixteenth of the 
month, Washington called a council of his officers, 
and urged an assault upon the town. Ko, they 
did not wish for it. They were willing to take 
possession of Dorchester Hill to draw out the 
enemy, but nothing more would they attempt. 
He told Congress, ‘‘ I was ready, willing and de- 
sirous of making the assault under a firm hope, 
if the men would have stood by me, of a favor- 
able result.” 

His situation was no garden of roses. It was 
a kind of winter in anticipation of the privations 
and despondency of Yalley Forge. In January, 
counting the able-bodied and the sick, those 
who were not there also, the men on furlough, 
he had less than ten thousand soldiers. What 
was to be done ? A happy thing for hirn and 
the country it was that he could curb his spirit 
and wait. 

So the winter, if not actually melting, was 


FAITH IN THE SIEGE. 


289 


wearing away. What were the British doing in 
Boston ? They tried to make bearable a winter at 
first burdensome. Faneuil Hall was turned into 
a playhouse. It rang with the merry echoes of 
the players and the play-goers. Up and down 
the floors of the Old South meeting-house, the 
horses of light dragoons proudly pranced, their 
masters using the building as a riding school. 
Winter became gracious. Provisions came across 
the water in big quantities. The British wel- 
comed the strengthening rays of the spring sun, 
rising higher and higher above the cold white 
snowdrifts. They knew that mild weather would 
bring reinforcements, and vacating Boston at their 
comfortable leisure, going when they got ready, 
they would find more congenial quarters in 
Hew York. They were good at waiting — like 
Washington? That was to be seen. So the 
days in and about the besieged town slipped 
along. 

One winter afternoon Faith stole out of the 
home of Grandfather and Grandmother Parker. 
The latter was quite feeble. The former was 
stronger than he had been, and would be well 
enough if he would let drink alone. He had but 
little business. His chief occupation seemed to 
be the cutting down of his cooper shop for fuel. 
Where he could get money for drink Avas a mys- 
tery to all but Faith. She knew Avhat fountain 


290 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


gave out the stream of supply. It did not come 
from Faith. She was receiving money, for she 
was earning it, but it was used to buy food for 
the family. 

That afternoon she expected to make a pur- 
chase with the money to be received for work 
upon a coat she bore on her arm. What opposite 
feelings she had toward that coat ! As she Avas 
responsible for it, as it meant bread for the 
Parkers, she could but care for it. And yet it 
was the sign of her country’s servitude. It was 
a British coat ! Hoav could she endure it ! One 
moment it was fire, pestilence, a Avicked beast, 
to be thrown aAvay, and then it Avas bread to be 
Avelcomed for the sake of others. 

“ Oh, there he is ! ” she suddenly exclaimed. 
“I am glad I shan’t have to carry this any 
farther. It is hateful.” 

She had gone doAvn Salem Street in the direc- 
tion of Dock Square, and at a street corner stood 
the owner of the coat ! Tall and Avell-shaped, he 
showed an imposing figure. His peculiarity 
Avas a nose of color set betAveen big, fiery eyes. 
When he spoke, his voice Avas agreeable, and his 
manner Avas courteous, even deferential. The 
melody of the voice, though, and the courtesy of 
the manner Avere suspicious, for the eyes had an 
evil look. One Avas surprised that the voice did 
not change into a storm blast, and that all the 


FAITH IN THE SIEGE. 


291 


stately bowing did not show itself as a pugilist’s 
cover for an assault. 

Faith shivered when she stood before him. 

“ Here is your money for the work,” he quietly 
said. 

Faith almost threw into his arms the coat she 
had mended, and she wanted to throw the money 
at him, but the need of those at home prevented 
her. 

“ Where is the old man ? ” he asked. 

She was glad to say he had gone somewhere. 

‘‘ Have you decided to go with me ? ” 

‘‘ Go where ? ” 

“ As if you did not know where. Why, to 
Hew York, whenever in the future we have made 
preparations, our army can go in good shape.” 

“You may have to go before you wish, and 
leave in bad shape.” 

“ How you don’t mean that. To be serious, if 
you will go with me, you shall be a lady in Eng- 
land. You shall have my name — you ” 

“ I am not ready yet to give up the name given 
me by my parents, and I am not ready to leave 
my native land.” 

“We will let that go. Where is the old gen- 
tleman ? ” 

“ I do not know.” 

“ I would like to see him.” 

She made no reply. 


292 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


“ You tell him I want to see him.’’ 

I cannot engage to give any messages.” 

“ You cannot ? ” 

She made no reply, but in silence turned 
away. 

He followed her. “ Come, come. Faith ! I 
mean no harm. You know you cannot stay here 
in comfort. Boston will be like a turkey picked 
clean to the bone whenever we do go.” 

“ So much the worse for those who have been 
picking it clean to the bone. One would think 
they would want to go.” 

He kept control of his temper and said quietly, 
“ You have been glad enough to get some of the 
meat we have put on the bone.” 

The blood rushed into her cheeks. Speech 
seemed to have deserted her. To think she 
should have consented to mend this man’s cloth- 
ing ! Was it right to receive money from such a 
source ? He had paid extravagant prices for her 
work, and she knew it, ajid it had helped to keep 
those at home from starving. Could she not 
though by waiting have got money elsewhere ? 
Perhaps so, but no way had opened to her. Her 
brimming cup ‘‘ now overflowed,” as he said, “ And 
the old man has been glad to get something from 
the turkey ! ” She knew that. Much as he hated 
to take anything from a Briton, he had received 
liquor from the Man with the Eyes and the Kose. 


FAITH IN THE SIEGE. 


293 


The latter had done it to get “ the old man on his 
side,” as he put it. 

She now started to run. He overtook her and 
cried out, “ See, see ! ” He held up a book. She 
started. She knew the book, her little purple 
bound prayer-book with its silver clasp. How did 
it get into those covetous hands ? Was everything 
going that way, over the cataract’s brink ? Would 
her daily peace be swept away, her comfort 
found in that devotional book, and — she started 
forward eagerly. Was Tom dead, killed in ac- 
tion, and had this been taken from his body? 
Had Tom gone down the cataract War ? She 
hesitated, for her strength was leaving her. 

“ I don’t wonder that you stop,” he said. ‘‘ I 
would not advise you to come here and see what 
is inside. You dare not.” 

This challenge revived her. 

‘‘ Give it to me, for you have no right to it. 
How did you get it ? I could not have lost it, 
for I gave it away, and oh, was he shot ? ” 

Chapman laughed heartily. “ Who is he. and is 
he shot ? ” 

He paused. “ I will not answer that question, 
but let her think he is dead,” he told himself. 

‘‘You gave this to one not worthy of you. 
You gave it to one who has deceived you and 
disappointed you. Another time you should 
trust one who Avill not deceive you.” 


294 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


She reached out her hand. 

“ Take it,” he said, “ but in your need of sym- 
pathy, trust one who loves you, who will do any- 
thing for you and will never betray you.” 

He handed her the book and walked away. 
He had controlled himself. He had saved every 
bit of his temper. Faith had lost hers several 
times. 

“ Oh, how did that man ever get this ? ” she 
murmured. She had opened the book and now 
read on the fly leaf ; “ Keturned to the owner. 
Hot needed. Tom.” 

She read it again and again. At first the 
point of an arrow sank deep into her heart, but 
the pain dulling, and the point blunting each 
time, she read on. “ He is not dead,” she told 
herself. “ Dead men don’t return prayer-books. 
And I won’t believe you wrote that until you 
allow it, Tom. But how did the man get this ? 
He is the evil one.” 

She went into the Parker home, saying, “ He 
is the evil one, the evil one ! I will have noth- 
ing more to do with him. I will not do his work 
nor take his money. And because he says that 
of Tom or hands me my prayer-book, in which 
something is written against him, shall I believe 
it? Hever! Tom may be dead, but I won’t 
blacken his memory.” 

Ho, she was not going to shatter her ideal be- 


^AITH IN THE SIEGE. 


S95 


Cause the evil one said, Throw a stone at him.” 
She closed the door hard as if she would shut out 
the evil one, and shut peace within. “ I’ll do no 
more work for him. I’ll take no more money 
from- him,” she resolved, “not even if I starve.” 


CHAPTEK XXy. 


AN UGLY NIGHT. 

The anniversary of the Boston Massacre was 
approaching. In 1770, March 5, there had 
been in Boston a collision between the people and 
the British troops who fired and killed several 
Boston citizens. Eoyalists might prefer to let 
the sound of that firing die all away. Patriots 
heard the dismal crack of the muskets echoing 
on, and each March fifth the dread sound of that 
firing all came back and echoed louder than ever 
when commemorative exercises might be held. 
The anniversary was now nearing the town 
whose dust had been reddened with patriots’ 
blood. 

It was the Saturday afternoon before that an- 
niversary, when Faith arid Grandmother Parker 
were talking about the massacre. 

“ It sets my heart to beating to talk about it, 
grandmother.” 

“It sometimes seems as if I had no heart. 
Faith. It will make my husband almost go 
wild when the anniversary comes. I wonder 
where he is ! ” 

296 


Alt udLY NiGltt 


He must be out somewhere.” 

“ I don’t like to have him out.” 

“ I’ll go down street and see if I can’t^find hinl. 
How don’t you worry.” 

Faith hurried down Salem Street. She had 
not gone far when she saw Grandfather Parker 
coming along the sidewalk, hugging some article 
under his coat, while Chapman walked at his 
side, arm in arm with him. The old man did not 
seem to care to see Faith, but Chapman was 
affable and courteous and stately as ever. 

“I wish thee a good-evening, lady,” said the 
imposing Briton. 

He released Grandfather Parker’s arm, and 
Faith stepped up to the old man and said, 
“ Grandfather, we have been worrying about 
you. We will go home together.” 

She was afraid that he had been drinking 
heavily. Was it not in his excited look? It 
was in his gait, she concluded, for he suddenly 
stumbled. He let go his grasp upon the object 
in his arms, and down upon the pavement fell a 
big black bottle of about as positive rum as ever 
was distilled. 

And what a change came over the face of Chap- 
man ! Faith had never seen it flash with such 
wrath before. His eyes burned. His nose burned. 
Fire was in his mouth. He could only say — and 
it sounded like the hiss of steam, “ S-s-shameful ! ” 


298 FIFER BOY OF THE BOSTOJS SIEGE. 

Yes, it is shameful ! ’’ said Faith. “ Tempting 
an old man this way ! ” 

She left the Briton standing on the sidewalk 
and saying in successive hisses of steam, “ S-shame- 
ful ! ” 

As quickly as possible she Ted the old man 
home, and on her way she saw that she had been 
mistaken. He had not been drinking, but the 
craze for drink was exciting him and was in his 
look and action. She knew the stage before 
indulgence, and Grandmother Parker, meeting 
them at the door, understood it also. One look 
at his flushed countenance, his eager, restless eyes, 
interpreted everything. 

“ Oh, my husband, husband ! ’’ she moaned, 
receiving him and leading him into the kitchen. 
A rocking-chair, everywhere padded with com- 
fort, she pulled up toward the fire, and motioned 
to him to sit down. He saw her tears. He was 
touched. He obeyed like a child. 

“ Grandmother !” Faith, was calling from the 
entry, and the call was answered. 

“Grandmother,’’ said Faith, “let us fight it 
out.” 

“ Fight what ? ” 

“ Let us see if we cannot get grandfather out 
of this kind of fever he is in. If, when he is 
tempted, we can get him out of it once, why not 
a second time and a third time ” 


An ugly night. 299 

wish we might. We can try.” 

“ Well, let us try. And there is something else 
that might be done. When a man wants some 
particular thing to eat or drink it shows hunger 
or thirst, and if we are not willing to give what 
they want, we may give something in its place. 
What do you say to a good supper for him? I 
have a little money.” 

“ Anything, Faith, if you have the money ; I 
will start up the fire.” 

“ A good supper ! ” How few such oppor- 
tunities they had enjoyed ! 

When Faith came back from a store she next 
visited, there was a modest heap of eatables in 
her arms. She looked about as she wondered if 
Chapman were haunting the street. She thought 
she caught a glimpse of his figure when she left 
the store where she made her purchases, but 
dared not turn to look a second time until she 
was within sight of the plain little half moon of 
brass that gave the Salem Street home a door- 
knocker. 

“Perhaps I ought not to feel so, but I am 
grateful to-night that he has showed his real face. 
I knew it was in him, and I wanted to find him 
out. He is the evil ” 

She hurried to get behind the little brass 
knocker, for she felt that her tormentor was 
somewhere on the street. The sound of the 


300 FIt'EB BOY OF THE BOSfoM SlBoB. 

door closing behind her was eagerly wel- 
comed. 

She tripped along the entry. When she was 
in the kitchen, she laid her packages on the table, 
and asked of the figure bending over the pots and 
pans in the fireplace bright with flame, ‘‘ Is he 
in 

“Yes, dear. He went upstairs. He was so 
uneasy, I let him go.” 

“I want to see him. Here is something for 
supper.” 

Faith found the old patriot walking his 
chamber. She laid her hand on his coat sleeve. 

“Grandfather, I want to say something. Sit 
down, do.” 

“ Oh — oh. Faith, I can’t. Massacre night is 
coming.” 

“Yes, massacre night is coming, but it is not 
here yet, and we cannot do anything. How, 
grandfather, you let me speak plain. If you go 
on drinking, you know what the end will be?” 

He bowed his head. “ God help me ! ” he 
murmured. “ Oh, it’s the devil ! ” 

“Well now, grandfather, let us face the devil 
then. Let’s drive him out ! If we drive him out 
once — and we can — we can send him off a second 
time and a third time, and why can’t we keep 
him out altogether ? How let us try — we will 
try hard — we will try all together — and we will 


AM Ugly night. 


30l 


ask God to help us — and — you pray — won’t 
you ? ” She was kneeling. 

“Oh, Faith, I can’t. You have a whole book 
full of ’em. You do it.” 

Faith thumbed her prayer-book rapidly, and 
by the candlelight read some of its earnest peti- 
tions for distressed souls. Then out of her heart 
rose as on wings another sweet, trustful petition. 

“ That does me good,” he murmured. 

“ Yes, and prayer will do us more good yet, if 
we let it. Grandmother and I are getting sup- 
per ready, and we will let you know about it. 
You think those prayers over that I read, keep 
saying them, dear grandfather.” 

The light of the candle, when she left him, fell 
on a grey old head looking intently into a little 
book. She went back to the kitchen. 

“Oh, Faith, we are wanted! You did not 
hear the knocker. True Baker’s child is taken 
sick, and could I come in to look at it just now, 
and could you get True’s aunt down by the 
Green Dragon tavern, to go to the house ? But 
there is grandfather 1 ” 

“ You go now, grandmother, and I will get him 
to say he will not go out. If he says so, he will 
keep the promise.” 

Grandfather Parker gave his word that he 
would, as Faith prudently put it, “ stay in and 
guard the house against all Tories, and the Brit- 


302 PIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

ish, you know.” He was one who prided him- 
self on loyalty to his word. 

‘‘ Guard the house ! ” That had a military, 
patriotic sound. Like a sentinel, he paced dif- 
ferent floors, thankful for occupation, this even- 
ing of temptation. 

But was that a summons at the door of the 
fortress? Yes, the brass knocker was rapping 
out a call. What if it were a demand by a Brit- 
ish foe that this fortress be surrendered ? It was 
only a fancy, but it interested him, and, candle 
in hand, he strode off with a firm step to the for- 
tress door. Only a package, innocent looking 
enough and tied to the knocker. He took it 
within, and saw that it carried this inscription, 
“ From a friend, and you must not hesitate to 
drink it.” 

He knew the handwriting. In the kitchen, he 
opened it, and how his eyes sparkled as he saw 
the contents of the package ! He knew the gen- 
tle exhilarance that accompanied a draught of it. 
He had sometimes said that if he could only have 
all that he wanted of this beverage, he would 
care for nothing stronger. 

But — it was pernicious, it was abominable, it 
was fatal to liberty. It had been made an ac- 
casion for the unauthorized and hateful taxation 
of America. It was the symbol of slavery. 
Those light, fragile, crumpled leaves were fetters, 


AN UGLY NIGHT. 


303 


and they seemed heavier than any of iron that 
had ever been forged. It was tea, outlawed, 
tabooed, scorned in patriot homes. And yet as 
in his thirst he looked at it and thought how 
quickly he could brew a cup, there, all alone, 
over that fire on the hearth, no one knowing 
anything about it, the fragrant steam rising up 
in imagination before him, — was it strange that 
he felt the temptation ? Was it wrong to accept 
this help in overcoming the temptations of drink ? 

He turned hesitatingly toward the teakettle 
singing on its crane. He reached out his hand to 
it, when a noise outside called his attention away 
from the fireplace. He saw his wife’s Bible open 
on a little stand, and he recalled words he him- 
self had read a few minutes ago. It was a part 
of the story of the temptation of Christ when 
challenged to prove that He was the Son of God, 
and He cried out, “ Man shall not live by bread 
alone ! ” He, the Son of God, felt within the 
stir of the consciousness that He was indeed the 
Son of God, and He was not dependent on the 
material earthly things ministering to the ma- 
terial and earthly man. He rose above such 
lower conditions. And the man before the fire- 
place felt within his soul the stir of a nature 
claiming kinship with God. He was not just a 
bundle of bones and flesh taking all his strength 
from what he ate and drank, but the higher na- 


304 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


ture had higher sources of support, and he rose 
up to an appreciation of his privilege, and he 
cried out in the consciousness of a higher origin 
and destiny, “ Man shall not live by bread 
alone !” 

Then he snatched up the package that had 
tempted his patriotism and rushed into a little 
room at the right of the front door. He aimed 
to reach a window opening upon the sidewalk. 
To think he should have hesitated one moment, 
he, a son of liberty ! Almost had he been proved 
to be a bondman. 

Somebody had said that Yankees on the sly 
would quaff without restraint this herby drink, 
and he — Azariah Parker — what had he almost 
done ? An accusing conscience hastened his 
steps. This chaff of Egypt, this tare of Canaan, 
this weed of the Philistines, he pitched out of the 
window he had raised. 

He did not notice that somebody was seated 
on the sidewalk, leaning against the house. It 
was the giver of the tea wondering how he could 
gain admittance, watching for the possible com- 
ing of Azariah to the door. Turning his sharp, 
eager eyes, his red nose, his gaping mouth to- 
ward the lifted window, he received a whirlwind 
of tea sent indignantly out, a whirlwind fdling 
his eyes, mouth, and sending him away in a rage. 
Grandfather Parker did not know of this, for he 


AN UGLY NIGHT. 


305 


dropped the window at once. Chapman mut- 
tered, “ It is that Yankee jade. I saw her buying 
her goods, and she saw me following her and has 
done this in revenge.” 

Faith and Grandmother Parker soon returned, 
and quickly a bountiful supper was set upon the 
table. The poor, hungry Azariah Parker, who had 
welcomed drink that it might lessen hunger, now 
through his tears saw this vision of plenty. They 
all sat down gratefully, while the breaking voice 
of Grandfather Parker rose in thanks to God. 

But as the feast went on, why did Faith look 
up and off at times? Her quicker ear caught 
what the others did not notice, the sound of a 
dull, distant pounding. Her eyes Avould snap 
and she would listen again. 

“ Hark ! ” she said to herself. This thud — 
thud — thud, what did it mean ? She knew it 
signified a cannonading by the American army. 
She said nothing though. The happy feast went 
on. The flames in the fireplace danced in merry, 
golden circles. “Tick, tick,” chirped the clock. 
That cheery bird on its perch, the teakettle on 
the crane, sang its merriest tune. They laughed 
and chatted, and grandfather seemed like his old 
self again. 

Suddenly, there was a terrific roar of guns 
close at hand, while the house jarred as if in an 
earthquake. 


306 


FIFER^BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


‘‘ The British are firing from Copp’s Hill,” said 
grandfather. “ I must go ! ” Up he jumped. 

“Boom — boom — boom,” came a terrific crash 
of guns. “ I must go,” he said again. 

“ Husband, you must not go. You can do no 
good, and harm can be done to you. Nothing 
will be done in the dark that you can change. 
You know your danger. Stay in the house.” 

“ Yes, fight it out,” said Faith. “ Stay, stay ! ” 
“If you want to see what the matter is, hus- 
band, let us go up on the roof.” 

They climbed the garret stairs, down which 
stole the scent of herbs. Feeling their way to a 
short flight of steps leading up to a scuttle, they 
went cautiously on, and grandfather threw back 
the heavy cover. One head after another was 
eagerly thrust out. 

“It is our folks,” said grandfather. They 
could see the light of cannon flashing across the 
water. Without warning, came another deafen- 
ing uproar from the British batteries ; “ boom — 
boom — boom — m — m ! ” 

“ I must go ! ” 

“ No — no — grandfather ! ” 

“ Husband, our army is up to something ; you 
can do nothing. You don’t know what to do. 
If you go, you may be ruined. You stay at 
home and drive out the drink. Our army will 
drive out the British. Then you did not think 


AN UGLY NIGHT. 


307 


of this, that Faith and I need a guard to protect 
us ! British soldiers might annoy us 

“ What, what ? ” 

“You stay and guard us. Valuables need to 
be guarded, don’t they? Are we worth noth- 
ing ? ” 

That argument prevailed. 

“ Yes, I will stay and guard you.” 

“ Boom — boom ! ” came the British guns, an- 
swering more furiously than ever the American 
war dogs growling all about Boston. The dis- 
charge from the guns close at hand shook the house 
from foundation to ridge pole, jarring the doors, 
rattling the windows, as if the grim cannon were 
stalking up to the old home, trying to force an 
entrance. 

Grandfather, through the night, sat in the 
kitchen, his gun near him, the sentinel on guard. 
From another room, though he knew it not, 
woman’s e3^es watched him through the door 
crack, and woman’s prayers went up to God, 
thanking Him for the British guns that forced 
grandfather to stay at home guarding two 
women. They felt that God had come to their 
aid, 


CHAPTER XXYL 

DORCHESTER HEIGHTS. 

The cannonading by the Americans began 
Saturday evening, March second. The Sabbath 
of Xew England went in peace. Sunday evening 
the cannon roar was resumed. Monday, the 
fourth, was the eve of the Boston massacre. 
About seven at night, the guns about Boston 
broke out into a mad tumult. The anniversary 
exercises of the memorable fifth had begun in 
earnest. 

In Dorchester, now the South Boston district, 
rose heights that looked down upon the town 
which the British persisted in holding. Wash- 
ington’s plan for commemorating the fifth of 
March was to occupy those heights. In the 
night, a movement was made by the Americans. 
Carts with intrenching tools, carts packed with 
bundles of screwed hay, carts heaped up with 
gabions, fascines and chandeliers, carts drawn by 
oxen the neighboring farmers supplied, all went 
by the light of a full, unclouded moon toward 
those highlands, while the tramp of soldiers 
going to commemorate the Boston Massacre, was 
308 


DORCHESTER HEIGHTS. 


309 


heard in the country roads leading Dorchester- 
ward. 

All night, under the bright, silver moon, toiled 
the Americans piling up breastworks. The guns 
of the Continentals roared out their cheerful ac- 
companiment to this commemoration, while the 
British guns, in stupid ignorance of the move- 
ment, blazed away in every direction except Dor- 
chester and blazed at — nothing. 

The morning broke. Up in the scuttle opened 
in the Parker roof, stood an old man looking otf 
through a spyglass. 

“ An awful night it has been ! ” he said. He 
began his inspection in Charlestown, and with 
his glass swept the horizon line round through 
Cambridge, Koxbury, Dorchester. Toward the 
occupied heights, he looked long and excitedly. 
Then he went down at a breakneck pace, swept 
through the chambers, tumbled down the stair- 
way leading to the kitchen, and rushed up to the 
fireplace where Faith was cooking, and his wife 
superintending. 

“You make us go wild. Massy! how you 
scared me I ” said his wife. 

It was Azariah Parker that had not the scared 
look but all its wildness. His eyes were staring 
excitedly. 

“ Wife, wife ! ” he shouted. “ Faith, hooror! 
General Washington is on Dorchester Heights, 


310 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


and the British have got to leave Boston. Hoo — 
ror ! Hoo— ror ! Come up to the roof ! ” 

Faith dropped a shovel. Grandmother upset 
the teakettle, but did not stop to set it right. 
Soon, three pairs of eager eyes were looking from 
the scuttle toward Dorchester Heights, grand- 
father’s spyglass going from face to face. They 
were not the only watchers looking toward tliose 
heights. How many, how many through the 
day, from the adjoining hilltops, looked toward 
Dorchester and toward Boston also ! The pa- 
triots on those heights were ready to meet any as- 
sault by the British. 

“Kemember it is the fifth of March,” said 
Washington to the Americans, “ a day never to 
be forgotten. Avenge the death of your breth- 
ren ! ” 

They were ready for battle. The British 
though were hindered by the weather. An angry 
sky sent out hard charges of wind and then let 
loose a furious rain, and the British transports 
did not reach the place of intended assault. This 
delay led to a wise purpose to evacuate the town. 
Those waiting ships in the harbor were to lift 
their wings, and to their own chagrin, but the 
joy of the Americans, would flee away. When ? 
What day? Hoiy anxiously th^ American^ 
>y^ited, 


CHAPTER XXYlI 
faith’s deliverance. 

The British fleet was going then. The Ameri- 
cans wanted to see their canvas wings let loose 
at once, but that scene was not promptly wit- 
nessed ; some time and ere long, it would be. In 
the meanwhile, refugees were going aboard. 
Their goods too were leaving Boston. The life 
of the town seemed to be ebbing away. Its re- 
sources Avere decreasing. 

This process of depletion was closely watched by 
Faith and the Parkers, but Faith especially, for 
she was the one now to carry responsibility, and 
what about the family’s support? The grand- 
mother in the house could not keep the house, 
and the grandfather while a householder could 
not be housekeeper. They both were feeling the 
burden of their years and the long, hard strain 
on their finances. Grandmother would not al- 
low it in words. Her sweet, hopeful tempera- 
ment shed as much sunshine in the house as ever. 
Grandfather Avas mellowing and softening under 
his afflictions, but that did not bring in flour, 

311 


Sl2 fifMr-boy of tMe BOSFON sieg^. 

meal, eggs or potatoes. That did not add one 
stick to the fire. He, too, was giving way after 
the pressure of the siege and its privations. 
Faith did not let the two old folks know the ex- 
act situation of the pantry, and one day it had 
on its shelves a single loaf of bread, the last loaf ! 
Where would the next one be found ? Faith 
was thinking over this serious question, and at 
the same time giving a geranium in the window 
a drink of water. 

“ Geraniums don’t Avorry ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ They don’t knoAv where the next draught of 
water will come from or whether the sun will 
shine again, and yet how handsome this is ! ” 

The fire of the March sun that Avent into the 
plant Avas coming out in the flame of crimson 
flowers. “ SomehoAv geraniums get along,” mur- 
mured Faith, ‘‘and somehoAV Ave Avill. I Avas 
really forgetting what my name means.” She 
drew over her soft folds of hair a blue hood, put 
on a cloak of broAvn homespun cloth, coarse but 
warm, hid under her arm a picture that belonged 
to her, and left the house. 

She went to a street near the shores of the 
Mill Pond that once Avas in the northern part of 
Boston, but now is under a tangle of streets and 
a crowd of buildings. Faith Avanted to find a 
family that she thought might like to buy the 
picture, and the money could be turned into 


FAITH DELIVERANCE. 313 

bread. She had been furnishing the larder for 
some time through similar sales. 

Who was it she saw at a street corner suddenly 
turned ? It was the tall Briton. She would 
have avoided him, but the abrupt turn almost 
carried her into his arms. She shrank from him. 

“Faith!” he said, bowing. His address was 
quiet and courteous. “ I have been wanting to 
see you. Faith.” 

“ I am here.” 

“ Faith, you won’t believe me, for you never 
believe anything I say. You know I care more 
for you than anybody else. You are having a 
hard time at home. If you go aboard the fleet 
with me, you will be cared for.” 

She shook her head. 

“ I will make you my wife.” 

She shook her head angrily now. Still he was 
not angry. He bowed and he spoke quietly, 
respectfully. 

“ Or I do not ask that, but simply for your 
promise, that when I come for you, you will go 
with me. I have such confidence in your word 
as to believe you will keep your word. It is all I 
ask, just a promise, and you stay here, for I have 
confidence in you and know you will be true to 
your word.” 

It was hard to believe that above words so 
smooth and deferential, could be two glittering. 


§i4 PiFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIPgP, 

sinister, heartless eyes, like wolf’s eyes. Faith 
saw the eyes. She had no ears for the words. 

“ And you shall have money, Faith, fifty 
pounds now. It shows how much influence over 
me you have. Indeed, you can make of me any- 
thing you wish. Yes, you can do anything with 
me you please.” 

What a compliment to the shaping influence of 
a young woman ! Faith, though, saw the evil 
eyes and was prepared to see red jaws and white, 
carnivorous teeth below. 

See how much you are getting ! All for just 
a promise! Fifty pounds! You can stay here, 
you know. Do you hesitate ? ” He paused as if 
he were trying to see farther down into her 
thoughts and more fully read them. 

“Do you hesitate? Ah, I know why! You 
may hope that you will hear from the American 
rebel who sent you back your prayer-book — after 
you lent it to him. I dare say he stole it.” He 
had touched the match to the gunpowder now. 

“ It is not true. He never sent the book back, 
or wrote in it. He never stole it. He never 
sent it back.” 

“ Do you make me a liar ? ” He still con- 
trolled his voice. It was quiet, deliberate. 

“ I said that he — you call him a rebel, and I 
say he isn’t — I said that he never stole the book 
or wrote in it or sent it back ” 


PAitH^s deliverance. 


315 


“ What ? ’’ 

“ He did not send it back.” 

“We will let that go. And you will not give 
me your promise ? The money you refuse ? ” 

“ Of what use is the hand unless the heart goes 
with it ? Money would only make it a shameful 
bargain.” 

The carnivorous teeth and the red jaws now 
showed themselves. Faith knew it without lift- 
ing her eyes. She could see his hands and she 
expected to see the fingers turn to claws that 
would clutch her. She quickly turned and ran. 
Once she set out to look back. She knew it was 
not necessary, that the big, evil eyes, those teeth, 
and a fiery nose were coming after her. Chap- 
man did not like to break into an actual run, for 
his conduct might be noticed. Some treacherous 
rebels might see him and interfere. He took 
though as long, energetic strides as possible, 
and before him was that girlish figure hurrying 
away. 

Faith ran along the north side of the dock, 
whose only surviving trace to-day is the name 
Dock Square. Faith always enjoyed a look at 
the dories or fishing boats or bigger vessels 
that might be in the town dock, but her eyes 
now seemed to be in the back of her head, watch- 
ing the red jaws and white, carnivorous teeth 
coming on. 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


She sped through a lane into Middle Street/ 
and then into Salem Street. Could she get to 
the house with a brass knocker on a green door ? 
Her heart was going like a windmill in a lively 
breeze. She abruptly turned a corner into a 
nook that she remembered well, and there 
halted, saying to herself, “I cannot go any 
farther. Hush, he is coming. It is getting so 
dark he may not see me.” 

His nearing steps echoed louder, louder. He 
was so near she caught an odor from his person. 
She felt a brush from the skirts of his coat, and 
she shrank from it as if it were the touch of a 
leper. 

“ He is gone,” she said. 

JSTo, he was growling, Girl, girl ! ” 

“ Oh, he has missed me ! He is coming back,” 
she said. She did not lift her eyes to look at 
him, for she knew his whole appearance was that 
of a demon of the night, and he was coming 
through the twilight shadows. 

“ Oh, there you are ! ” he snarled out. 

She was not there. She darted like an ante- 
lope out of the recess and across the street and 
into an empty house. She did not have time to 
close the door, for he was on the lowest of a flight 
of six steps when she had reached the highest, 
and he brushed aside as if a leaf, the door she 
* Now Hanover. 


PAITII'S bELlVERANCE. Slt 

tried to shut. The shadows in the hall bothered 
him, and he could not make as rapid progress as 
she who knew the house well. She flung back 
a door at the end of the hall, and then turned 
to the right and waited one minute. The steps 
to this door came up from the right, and Faith 
halted on the second step. The quick thought 
darting through her brain was that he might 
think the steps went straight out from the door- 
way, and he go accordingly. It was a correct 
forecast. He went straight on, but caught a 
glimpse of her as he went, and uttering a horri- 
ble oath of disappointment, he landed in a heap 
six feet below. She saw him one moment crawl- 
ing in a beast fashion, heard the wolf growling, 
and then she sprang back into the hall and out of 
the house. In less than two minutes, she was 
behind the brass knocker on the green door, and 
a stout iron bolt was bn her side of the door. 
She took up a candle from a shelf in the kitchen, 
lighted it and went to her geranium at the window. 

“ It is just the same,” she said, “ in the dark 
and in the light, blooming away, and may my life 
be like it.” 


Chapter Xxviit 


BOSTON ITS OWN AGAIN. 

“ Cy, Cy, have you heard the news ? ’’ shouted 
Tom, running into the barracks swinging his hat. 
“ How can you keep easy when so much is going 
on?” 

Cy was cooking rations that had come from 
Watertown. “ What is it ? ” he asked, turning a 
slice of pork sizzling and browning and curling 
in the frying-pan. “ If I didn’t cook suthin’, 
you wouldn’t have strength enough to be bawlin’ 
round as ye are. What is it ? ” 

“ General Thomas’ men are entrenched on Dor- 
chester Heights — been working there all night 
like beavers — and the British have got to leave 
Boston.” 

“ Hooror ! Hooror ! ” cried Cy. He in- 
tended to seize a towel and swing it, but in his 
excitement he came very near catching up the 
frying-pan, swinging that. 

“We will march in to-morrow, Cy ! ” 

They did not march in on the morrow. The 
British were not ready to march out or sail off. 
Hot until the eighteenth of March did the British 
318 


BOSTON JTS OWN AGAIN. 


319 


troops take to their boats and pull for the fleet 
anchored in the harbor. 

The twentieth, the main body of the Ameri- 
cans marched into the town so long sealed up. 
Tom and Cy had been anticipating it. They 
were in an eager mood. 

“ Take this,” said a patriotic countryman, prof- 
fering Tom a glass of rum, the day the Ameri- 
cans were to enter Boston. 

‘‘ No, my grandmother would not care to have 
me.” 

“But you want to celebrate, boy, now the 
British are gone ? ” 

“Not that way. I want a clear head when I 
march into Boston. We want to go in as masters, 
but something else will be master if I take that 
glass. No, no ! ” 

When the Continentals were actually inside 
of Boston, their advent took on the most trium- 
phal character. There were the long columns of 
rejoicing soldiers, the flags fluttering, the drums 
rattling, the clear, piercing notes of the fifes 
echoing along that triumphant march. “ Yankee 
Doodle ” lent its inspiration to the rejoicing of 
the hour, and it rose up cheerful and defiant as 
ever. 

Oh what a happy entry ! There was the Old 
South that they went by. To think the Old 
South should belong to Americans again I Over 


320 FIFEB BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 

at the left was Beacon Hill ; Beacon Hill was re- 
deemed. And Faneuil Hall ! That was snatched 
from the clutches of King George. Home again ! 
Boston ransomed ! What exultation ! The peo- 
ple crowded into the streets or flocked to win- 
dow and door, and with big shouts received 
Washington and his brave troops. Boston was 
its own again. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” Faith had said again and again 
that day. “Oh, dear, I am sorry grandfather 
cannot go out. He is feverish and must stay in 
the sick chair. Grandmother won’t complain, 
won’t say a word, but she is worn out.” 

She stole into the kitchen and there they were 
sitting before a scanty fire on the open hearth. 
They knew that the army had entered, for Faith 
had slipped out into the big, patriotic world and 
caught its mood and brought its atmosphere of 
enthusiasm and triumph to the two old people 
sitting before the open fire. 

Grandfather twisted round in his chair like a 
lion chafing to get out of his chains. “ It is of 
no use,” he said. “ I can only hear, I can’t get 
out to see. Oh dear ! I’ll try to be resigned.” 
He folded his hands and shut his eyes. 

Grandmother took a wide view of the great 
event. “ Faith,” she said in a few minutes, “ it 
does not seem like American troops only that 
have been coming into Boston, but British troops 


BOSTON ns OWN AGAIN. 


321 


too, who are glad a victory has been won for the 
rights of mankind, their rights as well as Ameri- 
ca’s rights.” 

Grandfather did not hear this. If he had 
caught it, he might have put it differently, for 
he took the narrower view, and saw in the war 
only America contending against England in 
one hard mass of opposition. He was very 
drowsy just then. Faith looked at him. His 
strength was fitful, and was it any wonder that 
he lacked in strength ? He had been resisting 
the pressure of exciting days and nights, and 
scant had been his supply of food. He was now 
much more prostrated than his wife, and her 
care was specially exercised for him, though 
Faith was obliged to watch too the old lady who 
might take her share of food and then fail to eat 
it, keeping it for a sly intrusion on another’s 
plate. 

“ What he needed,” she told Faith, “ I thought, 
was the American army marching into Boston, 
but see ! He is forgetting it and sleeping over 
it.” So they watched the weary, worn, old, old 
man, asleep while patriots were wide-awake in 
their intense joy. He suddenly stirred and 
opened his eyes. 

“ This is pleasant ! ” said the old man feebly, 
looking at the little fire. 

‘‘Ah,” thought Faith, “I wish I had money 


322 


FIFEE’BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE, 


enough to put a big fire there and buy something 
to cook then for a generous supper. Half a loaf 
of bread in the pantry, that is all ! ’’ 

It was quiet enough in the old kitchen, grand- 
mother placidly gazing at the ceiling, grand- 
father feebly contemplating the handful of fuel 
on the hearth, and Faith wishing that there 
were something to eat in the house, and that 
life, life, a vigorous life could take the place of 
this dreary inaction and discouraging stillness. 

Suddenly, Faith’s quick ear caught a sound of 
low music out in the entry leading from the 
front door to the rear of the house. There 
were several doors to be passed before the 
kitchen could be reached, so that the sound was 
muffled. There was no doubt though that it was 
music, and it was grandfather’s favorite style of 
church music. A Boston musician, William Bil- 
lings, had made popular a style of tunes called 
“ fugue,” in which the parts chase one another 
with a persistent vigor, and this pursuing gives 
the style of music its name. It was a style that 
must have shocked the lovers of a slow-going 
air, but it delighted Grandfather Parker. He 
was not alone in his fancy. Billings had many 
admirers. When patriotism was shut out of 
Boston, Patriot Billings was exiled also. During 
the siege he turned up in WatertoAvn and has 
left a footprint of his stay in a composition while 


BOSTON ITS OWN AGAIN. 


323 


in exile. It was a paraphrase of the 137 th 
Psalm, “ By the views of Babylon, there we sat 
down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.” 
Billings’ version ran, ‘‘ By the views of Water- 
town, we sat down and wept, when we remem- 
bered thee, oh Boston ! ” 

Billings’ “Chester” was a production very 
popular in patriotic circles. Away at the front, 
in the American camp, “Chester” was a Avel- 
come soldier-guest. It was a strain from the 
Watertown exile fugue that Faith caught out in 
the entry, the music growing louder, more dis- 
tinct, clearer. Grandfather Parker heard it. He 
straightened up in his chair. A glad smile broke 
all over his face. Then he rose from his seat, and 
though hesitating one moment as if wondering 
whether an invalid ought to show such vigor, the 
next moment he was springing toward the music. 
The door hiding the musician now opened, and 
there stood one in the uniform of the American 
army, playing on a fife ! 

“ Why, Tom ! ” cried the grandfather with all 
the eagerness of youth, “ God bless you my 
boy ! ” Around Tom, went the old man’s arms, 
and as he kissed him, he said with feeling, “ This 
is a Godsend ! How you have grown ! Big as 
General George Washington ! This is a God- 
send, this is a Godsend ! ” 

Grandmother had risen in her chair and was 


324 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


trying to smile as she stared at him through a 
flow of tears. In a silent, delighted bewilder- 
ment, Faith was looking on. 

“ Tom has got home ! ” said the young fifer, 
“ and he is real glad to see you, grandfather, and 
where is grandmother ? ” 

“ Here she is, Tom ! ” 

He sat down by her side, kissed her, patted 
her on the back and called her “ a blessed old 
grammer,” his pet name for her. 

“ This is a Godsend,” grandfather was saying 
again. Then he broke out, “ How he has grown ! 
A man now ! He has had something to do, and 
it has brought him out.” 

“ Yes, and it was always in you, Tom,” de- 
clared his grandmother. “ You went to fight for 
the rights of Englishmen as well as Americans, 
and you are a bigger man for it.” 

“ This is a Godsend ! ” grandfather kept saying. 

“ How, folks, I’m real glad to see you all ” — 
here Tom’s glance included Faith and he gave 
her a bow — “ but I can only stay an hour or two, 
and I want to have some supper with you, and I am 
just going out to buy something I saw in a shop 
that I know you will like and I’ll be back quick.” 

Faith followed him into the entry, carefully 
shutting the door behind her. 

“ Don’t you want, Tom, to see Faith ?” 

‘‘ My darling ! ” said Tom, eagerly kissing her. 


BOSTON ITS OWN AGAIN. 


325 


I could not say it before all those people. I will 
make up for it here in the entry.” 

“ And you didn’t send back my prayer-book to 
me, writing in it that you didn’t need it, sending 
by Chapman ? ” 

“I send? I write? Never, never! It was 
stolen from me.” 

“ Ah, I knew it, I knew it. But he has gone 
now in the British fleet.” 

‘‘And that Joab Amsden, what do you think? 
He has gone off. Faith, with the British ! Oh, 
the traitor ! Gone ! ” 

“ He has, Tom ? Let him go I Now I see, I see. 
He was in league with Joseph Chapman, and 
that is why Joseph wanted me to take a message 
to Joab.” 

“ And, Faith, now that I think of it, I believe 
Joab got my prayer-book, or yours rather, and 
sent it to Chapman to make you think that I was 
false. But I was true. Faith ! ” 

“ I knew it, I knew it, Tom — but you must not 
kiss me again — now — for somebody is coming in 
that front door ! ” 

As the door opened, in came a blooming young- 
woman carrying a package in her arms, while 
behind her was an American soldier tugging 
along a big basket. The entry was in a hubbub 
of salutations, and the tumult was transferred to 
the kitchen. 


326 


FIFER-BOY OF THE BOSTON SIEGE. 


“ It is Miriam ! ” said Faith. 

“ Yes, it is Miriam ! ” exclaimed the handsome 
female visitor. “ I thought a little reminder of 
the Watertown farm might be pleasant, and I 
came in our wagon and I picked up this relative 
who is a soldier here in Boston.” Did this rela- 
tive ever look nobler ? ” 

“ It is Graham ! ” shouted Tom. 

“Yes, and here is somebody else!” said an- 
other voice. 

It was Mother Spring now appearing in the 
door, a bundle in her arms, saying, “ I came in 
that ’ere wagon to Boston 1 ” 

Such a tumult of “ how-dy-dos,” and “glad-to- 
see-yees,” of shouts and laughter, of hand shakes 
and huggings ! Never had that old-fashioned 
fireplace witnessed the like, and now and then 
it gave a little chuckle of joy. 

And such a supper as followed ! What wonder 
that Grandfather Parker kept exclaiming, “ This 
is a Godsend, this is a Godsend ! ” 


THE END. 



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